


Ich Schrei, Du Schreist

by LilKrissMuffet



Series: Boyfriend 2 DIE 4 [5]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Allergies, Biting, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blunt-force Trauma, Bodily Fluids, Bondage, Cannibalism, Choking, Cigars, Codependency, Daddy Kink, Decapitation, Disembowelment, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, Eye Trauma, F/M, Force-Feeding, Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, Gross, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Knives, Master/Pet, Menstrual Sex, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Mutilation, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Sexting, Sexual Abuse, Snuff, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Strade being nice? Ew., Threesome - F/F/M, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Violent Sex, Vomiting, Warning: Strade (Boyfriend to Death), suffocation, wound-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilKrissMuffet/pseuds/LilKrissMuffet
Summary: Finally home at last with their "souvenir," Strade and his two loyal pets have one big happy family reunion down in the basement.Let's get this bread, ja? ;)
Relationships: Strade (BTD/TNR)/Reader, Strade (BTD/TNR)/You, Strade/Reader/Original Female Character
Series: Boyfriend 2 DIE 4 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819693
Comments: 97
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...I've also done this earlier in the story, but I like to write the chat on Strade's livestreams as one unbroken line of dialogue. Kind of like a stream-of-consciousness to represent the hivemind mentality that these people probably have. They all want to see blood and guts so it makes sense to me to only give names or individuality to the highest bidders. After all, that's how Strade would see it too, I think :)

I. Home is Where Your Heart Lies

After downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp, Strade smacked his mug on the counter and hopped down from his barstool as Sano was pouring himself a second cup.

“Well, it’s been fun, but we gotta split. It’s getting late!”

Sano concealed his disappointment, keeping his expression neutral behind his glasses. 

“You sure you’re alright to drive? Perhaps you should wait a while longer…just to be safe.”

Strade shook his head, stretching his arms and noisily cracking his back.

“Nah, I think I’m good. It’s not that far a ways to go and besides, we have some “take-out” in the car we need to get home before it spoils.”, he said with a knowing smirk and a sideways glance at Y/N, who hid her smile behind her empty tea cup. Sano seemed to be none the wiser, not that it mattered.

“Very well. Be careful, then.”

He held out his hand for Strade to shake, but it was ignored in favor of one of his lingering, touchy embraces, squeezing the air out of him like he was trying to deflate an inner tube.

_“Ja, ja,_ will do…and don’t _you_ be a stranger, buddy! I’ll see ya around!”, he chirped, slapping Sano on the back a couple of times while ignoring the strangled noises he was making from his torso being compressed between Strade’s arms. He let him go and turned on his heel, grabbing Y/N’s wrist and dragging her through the black curtain without another word. She looked over her shoulder, waving awkwardly at Sano as he called after them, sardonically.

“Yeah, well maybe I won’t if you ever answer your damn _phone!”_

_~_

As they approached Strade’s car, they kept an ear out for any muffled sounds coming from the trunk in case X/N had woken up from his mandatory nap, but only the electric hum of the ceiling lights awaited them in the quiet parking garage.

“Better check on the merchandise, huh? Make sure he’s still breathing…”, Strade muttered, lifting the lid of the trunk and peering inside through his raised arms. X/N lay on his side, bound tightly with rope pinning his arms behind his back and keeping his legs together, knees pressed uncomfortably against his chest. His face was smeared with dried blood and there was a nasty, deep purple bruise forming on his forehead from where it was introduced to the hefty heel of Strade’s boot. His eyes were open and they squinted at the bright light flooding the cramped space, but he was still too dazed to scream at them from behind the duct tape plastered over his mouth. 

“How ya feelin’, _kumpel?”,_ Strade inquired with an amicable grin, reaching down and playfully mussing his hair.

“Ready to go? Just hang tight, we’ll be home soon.”

He slammed the trunk closed again, catching the look of slight disappointment on Y/N’s face once she saw that X/N was indeed still alive. Before she could fall asleep with her head against the passenger side window, he spoke up about it for no other reason than plain old curiosity.

“So, _liebling._ I couldn’t help but notice how… _willing_ you are to let me bring your old boyfriend home with us. I was fully expecting you to be pretty upset! I was even looking forward to how pretty your crying would sound when I bled him out like a stuck pig, but…you’re not. How come?”

“Simple. The scumbag low-life cheated on me. With my _roommate,_ no less. He was also _shit_ in bed. Had a baby-dick, and lasted all of thirty seconds…on a _good_ day.”, Y/N spat vindictively, causing Strade to recoil away from her with a surprised giggle.

“Ahaha! Ouch, touchy subject for you, _schatzi?_ I’m almost sorry I asked!”

He glanced over at her, but when he saw that she wasn’t smiling back, he sighed and put a sympathetic hand on her knee. 

“Aw, I’m only joking, _liebe._ For what it’s worth, I think he’s a regular _trottel_ for doing that to you. I may not be the greatest at giving compliments, but if he was too blind to see that you’re, ah… quitethewoman …well then, I think I’ll be able to have more fun with him than I thought.”

He mumbled his way through the last part, but she still heard him clear as day. Her heart practically melted into a puddle behind her ribcage as a jubilant smile lit up her face, making her eyes sparkle with glee. She would be mentally filing _that_ one away in her “maybe this abusive, literal fucking murderer _does_ love me after all” folder for later reference. 

“Do you…really mean that, Strade?”, she asked him, her voice shy and meek, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Sure! I’m really going to enjoy slowly taking him apart. He’s pretty weak though, not sure how long he’s gonna-“

“No, I mean…the other thing you said. About me?”

Strade furrowed his brow and chewed his lip in thought for a moment before answering.

“Now don’t go getting a big head about this, but… _ja._ I mean what I say. You have a lot of… _desirable_ qualities, Y/N. In fact, if you didn’t already belong to _me,_ you probably would’ve made a nice, little _hausfrau_ for some other lucky guy.”

“What’s a…”house-frow?”, she asked him, and he smiled brightly.

“Oh, that just means housewife!”

Y/N felt like she could have keeled over right then and there, content in the knowledge that Strade considered her to be marriage material…even if he would never think about asking her himself in a million years. Still, if he ever did, she would have said yes in a fraction of a heartbeat. 

“Ah. OK.”, she responded quietly as a hundred butterflies beat their tiny wings inside of her stomach. To stop herself from imploding with sheer joy, she decided to change the subject.

“Speaking of, um…old boyfriends. I’m not going to lie. I think Sano might be in love. I mean…the way he was looking at you…”

“Mm, he definitely is. He texts me constantly, always wanting to hook up. Kind of desperate, if you ask me! Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s cute…but it does get a bit annoying when I’m busy with ah, other things. You know?”

Strade spider-walked his hand up her leg, well aware that she wasn’t wearing any underwear since he had cut them off of her with his knife instead of simply removing them like a normal person. His fingertips slipped just under the hem of her dress and he left them there, squeezing her thigh gently but going no further. They spent the rest of the ride home in strained silence, with Strade sporting a cocky grin as he relished the way Y/N shifted anxiously in her seat beneath the firm pressure of his hand, craving more of his touch. He suppressed a malicious giggle thinking about how he was going to just flop into bed when they got home, feigning ignorance to how mercilessly he had teased her and leave her wet and wanting, preferably tied naked to his bedpost by her collar. 

Just the way he liked her.

~

Ren was a pretty light sleeper out of necessity for obvious reasons, so his eyes instantly popped open and he poked his head out from under the pile of blankets when he heard the rumble of the garage door opening downstairs. Strade was home. He cautiously padded down the hallway, claws clicking on the hardwood floor and waited in the shadows at the top of the stairs, listening for signs that Y/N was actually still with him. He had been worried sick about her for the past few days, unable to get images of her corpse out of his mind, battered and bloody, lying at the bottom of a shallow ditch out in the woods while Strade slowly covered her with loose soil. He perked his ears up at the sound of the front doorknob turning, unconsciously holding his breath.

“Go on ahead, I got this. He weighs almost nothing. A stiff breeze would knock him over, I bet.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind helping.”

“I’m positive. Just go get ready for bed, _liebling…_ but don’t you _dare_ fall asleep without me.”

“I won’t…but would you at least like a snack? I’ll make you something.”

“Eh. I could eat, I guess. Surprise me!”

Ren breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the basement door creaked open. There was a metallic snap and a single, high-pitched beep accompanied by a soft jingle as Strade took off her shock bracelet and replaced it with her collar. Since they had returned with a captive, he figured it would be best to stay upstairs and out of the way for now. Despite how much he wanted to see Y/N and ask her questions about the outside world, he could at least rest a little easier knowing that she was alright.

~

After washing off the failed disaster that was her makeup and brushing her teeth, Y/N changed into the semi-clean t-shirt that she found lying on Strade’s bedroom floor. She thought about putting on some panties but ultimately decided she was too lazy to make the trip upstairs, instead heading out to the kitchen to see what was in the fridge. There was a stack of pizza boxes on the bottom shelf and she was willing to bet that was all Ren had eaten while they were gone since Strade hadn’t bothered to go grocery shopping before they left.

Y/N heated up a couple of slices in the microwave, opting to have her own cold, and took the two plates back to the bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed while she ate, waiting for Strade to get back. The carb-laden food made her head feel heavy and she struggled to keep her eyes open, but to no avail. She passed out lying diagonally across the bed, her greasy paper plate loosely pinched between her fingers.

She woke with a start to see Strade standing over her, a long string of mozzarella connecting his mouth to the droopy slice of soggy pizza in his hand.

“I thought I told you to stay _awake.”,_ he growled through his teeth, spraying a tiny bit of grease and spittle on the last word.

She quickly sat upright and turned around to face him, offering him an apologetic smile that was soon distorted by a yawn.

“Sorry, Strade. I just got really sleepy all of a sudden. It’s… _uaahhh_ …been a long night.”

Her eyes widened when she saw that the back of his hand was bleeding and she rose up on her knees, touching his arm with gentle concern.

“Oh no! Are you OK? Let me see that…”

Strade glanced down absently at the wound, humming dismissively around a mouthful of crust.

“Oh, this? It’s nothing. _Der kleiner Bastard_ bit me, is all. Got a little too close to his mouth after peeling the tape off and… _chomp!_ I was just trying to feed him. He’s gonna need his strength for tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?”, she repeated after him, carefully wiping the bite mark clean with a napkin. He almost pulled away but then thought better of it, simply allowing her to fuss over him. He squinted at his alarm clock. 

“Well, _later_ , I mean. Showtime’s in about, let’s say…seven hours. I’m eager to get started, aren’t you?”

“I guess so, but…we’re doing it right away? We just got home, though.“

Strade sat next to her on the edge of the bed and reached over to cup her face in his hand, admonishing her gently. 

“Daddy’s gotta make some money, _Kätzchen…_ why do you think we went on that little excursion, anyway? Just for _funsies?”,_ he laughed condescendingly, digging his fingers into her cheeks and forcibly shaking her head back and forth as if to answer his own question.

“N-no…I just thought -“

Her words were abruptly cut off by Strade effortlessly shoving her down on the bed with one hand and wrestling her shirt up over her head, throwing it back onto the floor while she wriggled around uselessly under his weight. He roughly manhandled her breasts, running his tongue up between them and leaving a slimy trail of drool streaked with traces of tomato sauce on her skin. 

“Let me guess…you just _thought_ you were allowed to wear my shirt, right?…and _this_ is for disobeying me, you cheeky thing.”

He retrieved a short chain-link leash from his bedside drawer and looped it through her collar, giving it a harsh yank before securing the end around the bedpost, denying her any room to maintain some semblance of comfort. She whined pathetically as he swiped his hand between her quivering thighs, smirking at the wetness that collected on his fingers, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before rolling over to his side and switching off the light.

“Sweet dreams, _meine liebchen._ Don’t let the bedbugs bite! Or do…I know you’re into that sort of thing.”

Less than a minute later, he was snoring. 

_That son of a bitch,_ she fumed silently, shivering in the dark. Despite herself, she couldn’t help the dreamy smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she watched him sleep. She settled herself against the headboard, reaching out as far as she could to just barely brush her fingertip along his back, tracing the curve of one of his many well-deserved scars visible in the moonlight. Y/N sighed in resignation, resting her head on her drawn up knees as her eyes finally drifted closed. 

It felt good to be home.

II. Family Get-Together

Six hours later, Ren found himself awake again. Not because of any strange or loud noises alerting him to attention, but rather his innate animal instinct that something was…off. The door to his room was standing slightly more ajar than he had left it when he had gone back to bed, he was sure of it. Before he could place exactly what it was that had him so on edge, something heavy abruptly landed on top of his blanket nest with a _whump!_ sound, pinning his legs to the floor with crushing force.

A bulky silhouette loomed overhead, blacking out the rays of late-morning sunshine coming through the blinds. As he pivoted onto his back to look directly above him, two imposing hands drove themselves into his pillow mere inches from either side of his face, barely grazing the fur on his fluffy ears. 

“Hey there, buddy! Miss me?”

Strade’s glowing amber eyes were wide and manic as he bent down closer, one lower lid twitching and his rapacious grin cutting his face from ear to ear. In Ren’s increasingly panicked state, each wet, pearly tooth was like a tiny knife. He could immediately tell that Strade was worked up about… _something…_ and he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out what. Whether he wanted to or not.

He squeaked embarrassingly, flinching back into the pillow as if he could escape the fingers that pressed into his throat right above his shock collar. Strade tilted his head sharply, not unlike a bird of prey and a lock of his wavy brown hair fell over one subtly narrowed eye as he awaited an answer. He knew that Ren wouldn’t dare say anything that wasn’t some form of an enthusiastic “Yes”, which was exactly what the frightened fox managed to gasp out along with a forced smile for his expectant master.

“Y-Yes, Strade…I’m so… _ghhllkk_ …glad you’re h-home…”

Seemingly placated for the time being, Strade released his grip to pet Ren’s ears affectionately.

“Aw, of _course_ you are…Now get up. I want you to come and see the _souvenir_ I brought home!”

He stood up and ripped the blanket from Ren's body, causing him to shiver and reflexively cover himself with his tail. He sat up on his hands, looking at Strade quizzically. 

“…Wha-what…is it…?”, he asked cautiously, trying not to betray his curiosity. He posed the question with a healthy amount of trepidation, knowing Strade’s poor track record with giving “gifts.”

“Well, I don’t wanna give anything awaaay, but…it’s down in the shop!~”

_Too late, Strade. You just did._

Ren flattened his ears and scowled, unable to resist as he was practically dragged by his bristling tail out of the room and towards the stairs.

“Don’t look so disappointed…Y/N is down there too, so it looks like the _four_ of us are gonna have a little party!”

Strade touched the pads of his fingers to his mouth in a pantomime of fake remorse, his giddy expression remaining intact.

“Oops! Did I just ruin the surprise?”

~

While Strade busied himself with setting up his camera and laptop, Ren and Y/N had their bittersweet reunion. He was relieved and happy to see her again, but the unwelcome presence of the confused and terrified man with a prominent bruise on his forehead tied to a metal folding chair soured the mood considerably. She didn’t even appear to be bothered by the fact that they were about to witness this guy being tortured and killed for profit. In fact, she seemed to be…excited.

“X/N, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”, she said sweetly, casually sitting on the captive’s lap as if he was as inanimate and unfeeling as an actual chair. She smiled and gestured to Ren, who just stood there awkwardly, vehemently avoiding eye contact. 

_“Psh._ What is this furry fuck, another one of your “boyfriends"? Goddamn, I never thought you would become such a _whore.”_ , he sneered, spitting on the floor. She replied by slapping him so hard across the face that the sound made Ren cringe.

“Listen. Ren is like a brother to me, you shit-heel…and if you disrespect him one more time, you’re going to wish you never opened your fucking mouth. Got that?”

X/N simply turned his head away sulkily, not saying another word. Y/N quickly stood up, nervously playing with her hair when she saw Strade coming their way. He was wearing his skull-print bandanna over the lower half of his face and his next words to them did not match his menacing appearance.

“I hope you three are playing nice together! Anyway, it’s almost time to start.”

Y/N’s threatening demeanor had completely changed to one of subservience within seconds. She nodded agreeably, clasping her hands in front of her chest like a child saying her prayers before bed.

“Mmhm! We were all just getting acquainted, that’s all.”

Strade’s discerning gaze wandered to each of their faces before giving an approving nod of his own. He unsheathed his favorite knife from the holster at his hip, lovingly admiring its polished shine while he went over instructions. 

“Good, good. OK, so! Ren, your job today is going to be reading off donations. Be sure to speak slowly and clearly, but keep up with incoming requests and ignore anyone that tries to lowball or spam the chat.” He pointed the tip of the blade in Ren’s direction as he spoke, causing him to shrink back and nearly trip over one of the many wires running along the floor from Strade’s streaming equipment.

“Ah! Uh, yes, Strade. I’ll do my best.”

Next, he turned the knife on Y/N, slinking closer to lightly scrape it across her cheekbone. It left the faintest pink mark and she automatically reached up to touch it as if he had kissed her there instead. 

“Y/N, you’re going to be in charge of tools. Simply put, when I ask you for something specific, you will fetch it for me…and since our guest is technically also _your_ guest, I’ll even let you play with him a little bit too!”

Strade circled around to stand behind X/N’s chair, drumming his fingers on his head as if it was a tabletop.

“Any questions before we begin…?”

X/N jerked his head out from under Strade’s hand.

“Yeah, I got one for ya, you fuckin’ sicko. What the fuck is wrong with you people?! And what’s with the _camera?”_

Strade grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked back, making him yelp from the strain on his scalp as their eyes were forced to meet. 

“I’m gonna make you a _star,_ buddy! You’re about to get your fifteen minutes of fame…that is, if you _last_ that long. Ahahahahh…”

X/N’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a horrified grimace, realizing he was starting to break into a sweat despite the damp coolness of the basement. Y/N hesitantly raised her hand like she was in class.

“About that…I sort of had an idea, if you’re open to suggestions…?”

Once again treating him like a table instead of a person, Strade rested his elbow on top of X/N’s head and laid his chin on his palm.

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“I don’t, um…want to say it in front of Ren, though.”

Trying to pretend he was literally anywhere else, Ren perked up at the sound of his name on her lips, but his ears drooped when he realized she wasn’t talking to him directly. Strade reached out his hand, curling his fingers towards himself in a come-hither gesture.

“Alright then..C’mere and whisper it in my ear _.”_

Ren watched as she did just that, and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he caught the gleam in Strade’s eyes at whatever secrets she was sharing with him. He didn’t even have to see those aggressively-bared teeth to know how wide that smile was.

Y/N started to draw back, nibbling on her thumbnail as she anxiously waited for Strade’s approval. He stopped her with a gloved hand on her shoulder, sinking his leather-clad fingertips into the tender flesh of her scarred-up collarbone. She stifled a cry as he leaned in close enough for his scraggly hair to brush against her cheek, purring seductively so only she could hear. 

“Mmm…I like the way you think, _liebling._ If this little plan of yours actually works…expect a reward later.”

Even though he tried to downplay how much the idea truly appealed to him, he was practically salivating behind his mask, doubly excited that she was the one that came up with it and not him. He felt a stirring in the bottom of his guts that forced him to let go of Y/N before he ended up tackling her to the ground and drilling her into the concrete. They had work to do but there would be ample time after, or more likely _during_ , the stream for him to ravage her to his heart’s content. 

Besides, it was always _so_ much better when they were both covered in blood.

III. _Drei, Zwei, Eine, Aktion!_

Once all of the lights in the basement were extinguished, save for the single dimming lightbulb that hung from the ceiling right above the unwilling victim’s head, that’s when everyone knew it was showtime.

Strade stood in front of the camera and clapped his hands together twice, giving Y/N the signal to hit the record button. She scurried over to stand beside him, wearing nothing but her shock collar, a lacy ensemble that barely qualified as one step above lingerie in terms of coverage, and her best demure smile to look as cute as possible for their viewers. Sure it was degrading, but she wasn’t really doing it for any of those faceless internet strangers, anyway.

Ren sat quietly on the sidelines, eyes glued to the laptop to monitor the chat. If he had to watch, at least he would be seeing the carnage go down on a screen instead of right in front of his face.

With one arm swept out in a dramatic greeting and the other wrapped around Y/N’s waist possessively, Strade started up his standard introduction while she clung needily to his side, performing the role of the devoted, scantily-clad submissive to make him appear even more intimidating than he already was. There was very little actual acting involved on her part, but she knew it drove the chat (and Strade) wild when she really played it up.

“Hallo everybody, and _wilkommen_ to “the shop”! I’m your host, B3G_CRY…and you all know my little assistant, _Kätzchen…”_

He gestured to Y/N, prompting her to blow a kiss to the camera and lean over slightly to show off her cleavage, which got the chat scrolling rapidly.

_hey pussy cat you can assist this dick ;) hell yea tits wait a min this aint twitch notice me b3gcry senpai i luv u sm <3_

“Before we get started, I would like to preface by saying that today’s guest is actually someone from my assistant’s past…”

Strade walked backwards towards X/N, once again grabbing him by the hair to force him to stare directly into the camera lens. When he saw the blinking red recording light, he began to struggle against the ropes binding his arms to the back of the chair. His mounting fear was making it more difficult to breathe, like a pile of bricks on his chest.

“A someone who…”, Strade continued, swinging his knife forward to slice cleanly across the front of X/N’s shirt, just barely nicking his skin. He inhaled sharply as a thin red line appeared between the torn edges and blood began to soak into the fabric. Strade liked to keep his knives in peak condition. Even the slightest amount of pressure would part flesh as smoothly as if it was some kind of cream-filled dessert, spilling the tasty surprise inside. 

“…broke her poor…little… _heart~ ..._ Isn’t that right, _meine hübsche Katze?"_ Strade placed his hand still holding the knife over his own chest, his tone pouty with patronizing sympathy. Y/N blushed a deep rosy pink as she felt all eyes on her, and not just those of the three other people in the room. He was doing this on purpose, she knew, just to humiliate her. Well aware of how much his rabid fans enjoyed seeing her get in on the action, with or without clothes on, he always made sure he exploited her "talents" for his own gain. 

_oh shittt fuck em up im boutta throw hands at this lil bitch ya cut his nuts off and make him swallow em omg senpai marry me plz ^_^_

Each swipe and slash of the knife punctuated Strade’s words until X/N’s t-shirt and cargo shorts were little more than ragged cotton ribbons hanging from his torso and thighs, leaving him bleeding in several places. It didn't help that he wouldn't sit still, but Strade certainly wasn't being careful not to cut him either.

“So don’t be shy with your requests! Let’s give him what he deserves, _ja?”_

X/N strained forward in his seat, kicking his legs feebly and stomping his feet on the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

“Is _that_ what this is about?! You’re trying to punish me or whatever, like a revenge fantasy or some shit!”

Strade released the clump of hair in his fist, giving his head a rough shove to the side with a sinister chuckle while completely ignoring his sudden outburst. He held up one gloved finger, as if remembering something.

“Oh, and one more thing! We have an extra _special_ finale planned for you all, so be sure to stay tuned until the end. You don’t wanna miss any of the fun!~”

With that, Strade ran his hand over the shallow, leaking wounds, smearing blood across X/N’s front. Then he twisted his fingers into what remained of his shirt, tearing it off with one swift motion and tossing it aside. X/N forced himself to look down at the streaky, red handprints decorating his exposed chest and stomach and swallowed thickly, instantly queasy at the sight of his own blood. That repulsive, stale granola bar Strade stuffed down his throat earlier was not sitting well with him at all.

Ren leaned wearily on the table next to the laptop, laying his head sideways on his arms as the donations started to roll in, along with a succession of ping noises to signify each one.

“Uh…um…”bonesaw99” just paid $3000 for… _oh._ They want you to…r-rip off his fingernails and then…dunk his h-hand in…alcohol…”, Ren read off the screen, his voice wavering as he straightened up and steadied himself on the edge of the table.

_damn bonesaw comin out da gate swinging fuck yeah love 2 see it senpaiii im touching myself to u right meow dont ignore meeee >:(_

Strade gave the camera a friendly wave before reaching around the back of the chair and loosening the rope on one of X/N’s arms.

“You got it! Thanks for your support, bonesaw!” 

He grasped his wrist and yanked his hand forward onto his leg with his palm facing down. Then, pressing one boot down on his forearm to hold him still while he retied the knot on his other arm, he looked up at Y/N and pointed to his workbench.

“I’m gonna need an awl and pliers. Top drawer on the left." 

When not addressing his audience, his voice was a demanding bark that made her muscles tense up and her breath quicken. His eyes were like two lit matches flickering above the macabre death mask that served as his temporary face. Y/N froze for the briefest moment, suddenly wondering what it would be like if _she_ was the one in that chair...almost _wishing_ it even. 

Strade noticed her hesitation and his hand shot forward in front of X/N's face, the end of his knife stopping on a dime to rest on her lower lip and graze her teeth.

_"...Now."_

His deceptively soft voice implied that he intended to force-feed her every cruel inch of that steel blade if she waited even a second longer. She took a small step backwards and gave a sharp nod before doing as she was told but when she returned with the required tools, Strade refused to take them from her outstretched hands. Instead he narrowed his eyes and patted the back of X/N’s hand, grinding his heel into his arm.

“Uh-uh, _Kätzchen._ I’m letting _you_ take care of this one. I _know_ ya want to…~”, he cooed mischievously, egging her on.

She cast her gaze down at the pliers and awl, then to X/N’s hand trembling atop his bare leg. Strade leaned his arm on his own knee, applying more pressure to the appendage which was now starting to tingle from lack of circulation. This wouldn’t do much for the world of hurt X/N was about to experience, of course, and he knew it.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, don’t - don’t, Y/N, you don’t wanna - AGH!!!“

His pleading abruptly ended with a stilted yell of pain as Strade buried the large hunting knife in the back of his hand, stabbing all the way through to his knee until it was nearly hitting bone. Blood poured from under his palm and began to drip down his shin, staining his sock. Strade leaned back and crossed his arms in irritation, leaving the knife sticking straight up. X/N’s fingers curled inward and back out involuntarily in response to the vibrant, searing pain, wide eyes tearing up as he simply stared at the knife’s handle shaking violently above his impaled hand. 

_“_ You don’t call her by name, _freundchen._ You don’t speak to her at all. If you have something to share…you share it with _me,_ or we’ll be using those things on your _teeth_ next. Are we _clear?”_ , he growled, voice low and forbidding. He reached down and twisted the knife slightly on the last word, eliciting another sniveling cry from X/N as he started to sob.

“Good. Glad we understand each other.” 

He turned to face the camera, stepping forward to hold out his hands and playfully wiggle his fingers.

“On the bright side, now my hands are free to do something else at the same time! What’ll it be, _freunde?”_ , he called out cheerfully and gave Y/N a little push towards their victim. It would be her first time doing this to someone she actually knew personally and her emotions were understandably mixed, despite her utter loathing for the target in question.

“Better get going, _schatzi…”,_ Strade whispered into the back of her neck, as intimately as if they were lying in his bed. She could feel his hot, moist breath on her skin through the thin cloth of his mask and she shuddered, tightening her hold on the instruments of torture clutched in both fists as he snuck his hand around to her face. He pressed his chest against her back and slipped two fingers into her mouth, deliberately wiping her ex’s blood on her tongue, but all she could really taste was leather and belt-sander grease from those filthy, well-worn gloves. 

“...I’d _hate_ to keep a paying customer waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> Ich schrei, Du schreist - I scream, You scream
> 
> kumpel - buddy, pal, dude
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> schatzi - sweetheart
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> trottel - fool, idiot, moron
> 
> der kleiner Bastard - the little bastard
> 
> Kätzchen - kitten
> 
> meine liebchen - my darling
> 
> Drei, Zwei, Eine, Aktion! - Three, Two, One, Action!
> 
> wilkommen - welcome
> 
> meine hübsche Katze - my pretty kitty
> 
> freundchen - buddy, pal, (aggressive/sarcastic, meant as a warning)
> 
> freunde - friends


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strade's fun-time torture porn hour continues!
> 
> That's...pretty much it. *shrugs*

IV. Bloodsport

Like with a shark in open water, the scent of the blood flowing around the knife skewering X/N’s hand, as well as the heightened aura of primal fear radiating from his trembling body, were beginning to swiftly erode the self-control of his kidnapper. Unfortunately for him, that was already in short supply to begin with.

Strade stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest and watching intently as Y/N slowly sank to her knees at her former lover’s side, avoiding his pleading gaze and panicked cries. She firmly refused to acknowledge or speak to him, instead keeping all of her focus on the task Strade had none too kindly set before her. She knew that he wouldn’t be the only one she would be letting down should she fall short of his high expectations, and after enduring one of his punishing “for your own good” play sessions she would surely be among them herself. 

As she grasped X/N’s index finger between her own and her thumb, beginning to work the sharp point of the awl underneath his nail, she tried not to let her mind wander. Tried not to think about their first date at a 24/7 breakfast diner or the time he surprised her with her favorite flowers at work just because. His screams pierced her eardrums and he called her every name in the book but still she pressed on, using the barrage of insults to stoke her angry fire. 

The sensation of the lift and separation from the nail bed was nauseating and unpleasant, much like feeling an insect squish underneath your hand…at least to her. Yet more blood oozed from around the awl, coating the end and dripping from X/N’s fingertip onto his shoe. By this point, it was loose enough to remove fairly easily, but there was no way she could have simply done so by hand. This was where the pair of pliers came in.

With X/N’s pitiful wails echoing in her skull, giving her the makings of a faint headache from being so close to the source, she pulled the awl out and set it on the floor. Daring to briefly glance up with pliers in hand, she nearly snorted with uncomfortable laughter upon seeing his face contorted with agony and despair, cheeks wet and red eyes puffy from crying and begging her to reconsider. She imagined with a sick sense of satisfaction that she must have worn a similar expression on the night she came home to find him nailing her bitch of a roommate on the futon that they used as their living room sofa. One of her awful medical shows had been playing in the background, a surgery scene, and in that moment she had felt like the patient on that operating table. Something sharp and cold cutting right into her heart.

Revenge fantasy, indeed.

Y/N clasped the metal teeth of the pliers around the edge of the fingernail, surprised and repulsed by how loosely it wiggled on the raw, bloody nail bed. It wouldn’t take much to tear it off, but she still had to prepare herself. Not for how much it would hurt him, but simply because the whole thing felt so damn _gross._

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Strade had sidled even closer, now practically hanging over the two of them and panting slightly in anticipation of the tiny, flesh-ripping noise they would hear when she finally pulled her hand back. She was kind of surprised not to spy a string of saliva dangling from the bottom of his mask. Watching her torture one of his victims indulged his violent appetite almost as much as engaging in the act himself, she knew.

_cmon let er rip cut off his fingies and make him eat em like chikn fries rip and tear rip and tear whatsa matter need a “hand” darlin? lmaooo ughh b3gcry could stab me to death and i would thank him after tbh_

The air of impatience surrounding Strade grew thicker as he leaned even further over, his eyes boring into the top of Y/N’s head. It was a wonder that he didn’t just fall forward into X/N’s lap, appearing to be simply held up by the sheer power of his own rampant bloodlust. Wanting to get it over with, she finally closed her own, and with a deep, calming breath she jerked the pliers backwards. She used more force than was needed, nearly hitting herself in the chest with the handles. X/N gasped and grit his teeth hard as his index fingernail tore free, setting more of the tiny nerves underneath ablaze with an acute, burning pain. Strade sighed with shameless delight at the sight of the exposed, raw flesh where the nail once was. He held out his hand and she used the pliers to drop the severed nail into his open palm.

After briefly examining it as if it were a fine jewel to be appraised, he just as quickly discarded it, flinging it to the floor with a shake of his wrist. He knelt down next to Y/N, laying a hand encouragingly on her upper arm.

“You’re doing quite well so far, _liebling.”_

She flinched away from him the tiniest bit, expecting to feel his fingers dig in with bruising pressure and push her down onto her back, but she was pleasantly surprised (and a tad puzzled) when that wasn’t the case. Perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune moment to take full advantage of her?

“Th-thank you. It…it was easier than I thought…y’know, to rip those off.”, she mumbled shyly, offering him a small smile. She kept her voice down as much as she could, despite being excited over Strade openly praising her. Just as with being out in public, he usually didn’t allow her to speak on camera unless he gave explicit permission first. Between this and the two seemingly genuine compliments from last night, she felt downright spoiled, though she supposed it would be wise to expect some heavy abuse later on to make up for it. The thought of what he might do to her coupled with the fact that probably hundreds, if not _thousands_ of people were watching, made her feel hot all over despite her relative lack of clothing. 

“ _So ist es brav, mein Kätzchen._ One down, four to go…”

They gazed at one another for a few seconds more, the intense look in Strade’s eyes rooting her to the spot while X/N leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, no doubt regretting ever meeting this psycho bitch in the first place. He didn’t even know if he could handle another little piece of him being forcibly removed, having already lost a tooth to Strade’s fist, not to mention his pride. That went out the non-existent window hours ago when he began sobbing uncontrollably in the dark after that freaky German nutjob hand fed him some dry-ass energy bar and poured cheap beer down his gullet so he could choke it all down. “A late-night snack for you!”, he had said cheerfully, grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat.

Just then, all three of them looked in the same direction at the sound of Ren’s nervous voice ringing out in the dark.

V. Little Shop-Vac of Horrors

“A-another donation! …$6900 from someone named Ab…Absynt. They want to know if you have a….what?…a _shop-vac?”_

His voice rose at the tail end of his sentence to denote his confusion, his tail twitching. Even Strade, who was scarily adept at coming up with new and creative ways to torment someone, considered it to be a strange request. 

“Hm? Eh… _ja,_ I do…” He stood up and tilted his head inquisitively, his curiosity already peaked.

“Why do you ask…Absynt, was it?” 

He made his way over to the laptop, carelessly shoving Ren aside to better see the screen, and waited for them to respond. It was a pretty respectable amount of money so he was very interested to see what they had in mind, though he was a bit skeptical that they were paying that much to see him use a _vacuum_ of all things.

Absynt: _yea I know it’s weird but hear me out. suck out his eye with it! that would be so sickkk dude D:_

Strade raised his eyebrows incredulously at first, but he didn’t have to think about it long before giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up to the camera.

“Thank you, _freund!_ That’s a nice idea. I like it, I like it.”

He turned to see that Y/N had pulled herself to her feet, watching him closely as she awaited his next order while X/N whimpered with fear beside her, convinced he was about to somehow die by vacuum. Whatever _that_ meant. Obviously, he wasn’t close enough to read the chat. Neither of them were, so they had no idea what was coming next. 

They were unable to take his eyes off Strade as he stomped back towards them, a little purposeful spring in his step, before breezing right by and over to a tall double-doored cabinet near his workbench. As he passed Y/N, he pointed a finger at the ground in an unmistakably commanding gesture, growling lowly in his throat. His words were clipped, his tone suddenly aggressive. 

“Back down on the floor. You’re not _finished.”_

She obeyed without question, bowing her head and picking up the awl to get to work on X/N’s middle digit. She moved quicker this time now that she knew what to expect, but also to avoid making Strade wait too long. He was not a very patient man, to make a gross understatement.

“No, please…no more. No, fuck, no…N-NO!!…ssss…Aghhh!!!”

The pain of the pointed tip of the awl being stabbed roughly under his fingernail and then lifted up like a lever was agonizing at the very least and he nearly vomited, already feeling nauseous with the pain from the knife in the back of his hand. The poor excuse for food and copious amounts of alcohol he consumed the night before were also threatening to make a guest appearance at Strade’s fucked-up little party. His hand, fingers, and the leg they were pinned to were now coated in a fine layer of coagulating blood, and even the sight of that was making him sick to his stomach.

“Keep it down…you’ll only make it worse. He…he likes it.”, Y/N muttered, not even looking up as she reached for the pliers again. He wondered vaguely if she was referring to his screaming or his throwing up, but didn’t have time to ask before the second nail was viciously ripped from his middle finger. Y/N tried to reassure herself that she was doing him a favor by telling him this, but actually his shrill cries coupled with the lack of sleep from being chained up all night were really starting to give her one hell of a migraine.

_shop vac huh that’s brutal my guy yeah where did you get that idea who cares this is gonna rule mmm i hope he fucks the hole again like last time that was hot aw hell yea i love that shit me toooo god i wish that were me :(_

She was just about to clamp down onto the third nail when Strade returned, rolling the large, heavy-looking shop-vac along behind him. After uncoiling the power cord and plugging it into the electrical outlet behind the counter, the basement floor now resembled a large concrete plate of black spaghetti due to the chaotic tangle of wires and cables criss-crossing all over the place. All it needed now was some red sauce to complete the disgusting metaphor, but it was only a matter of time. After all, both Strade and his subscribers had come here hungry.

X/N’s hand was now a mangled mess, fingers twitching and bloody while he struggled not to hyperventilate or shriek in agony at the horrid tearing sensation that was sending tiny, red-hot pokers all the way up to his wrist with every minute twist or pull of the pliers. He ultimately failed as soon as Strade crept up to his opposite side, entirely too close for comfort, and grasped the back of his head to hold it still. He brandished the vacuum’s extension tube like a weapon, ghosting it over X/N’s clammy face and giggling quietly at the way his breathing began to rasp through his teeth. His eyes widened with fear as they followed the dark eye of the nozzle as if it was a poisonous scorpion’s tail preparing to strike.

“Wha…what are you gonna do…with that? G-Get it a-…don’t touch me!!”, X/N exclaimed, his voice quaking and high-pitched with desperation. Y/N looked up from his hand for a second distractedly and Strade reached over to kick her hard in the ankle with the side of his boot as a warning, throwing her off balance. It caused the pliers to slip, suddenly and harshly ripping off the last nail on that side at an awkward angle, leaving only his thumb intact. A broken scream was forced from his anxiety-tightened throat and Strade leaned in even closer, his breathing heavy as he dug his gloved fingertips deeper into X/N’s scalp to push his face towards that ominous black void. It came to a halt mere centimeters from his watery, bloodshot eyeball, staring into it as intently as Strade himself was.

“What’sa matter, buddy?”, Strade asked him, his tone that of simple, friendly concern. 

“It’s just a vacuum! No need to get so…”, he drew out the last word as he let the nozzle wander down X/N’s face before jamming the hard, plastic tube into his partially-open mouth, deep enough to reach half-way down his throat. 

_“…choked up.”,_ Strade finished with a derisive little chuckle at his own cringey wordplay, wiggling the nozzle around a bit. X/N gagged on the coat of dust and grime as it scraped against his tongue and gums. 

Pain exploded in X/N’s jaw from the impact on the inflamed nerves of his recently broken and extracted teeth, and he groaned loudly around the unwelcome intrusion stretching his lips and obstructing his airway. He felt his face heat up with shame as Strade let go of the back of his head to lightly touch his face and he saw his eyelids lower to half-mast in his peripheral. He cringed at the sound of the husky voice, low and horrifyingly intimate, right next to his ear. 

“…Suck it.”

A strangled noise of dismay escaped from X/N’s occupied mouth and he tried to shake his head, but Strade pushed the tube even further in while at the same time squeezing his jaw hard enough to send electrical shocks like needles to go shooting through his skull. _“Mmmghh!”_ was the only form of protest he could manage. This shit made any trip to the dentist seem like a cakewalk in comparison.

“Do it, _freundchen…_ or I’ll turn it on and slurp your guts out like a _gott verdammt_ milkshake through a straw. How would you like _that,_ huh?”, Strade purred, his voice remaining at the same soft volume that someone might use to comfort a crying child.

“MM-mmgh!”, X/N answered quickly, doing what he was told to the best of his ability. He didn’t think he would have to endure complete and utter humiliation in addition to the agony and crippling terror on this day, but well…here he was.

“Ahaha…. _hahh…_.Good boy~…”

The leather-clad hand holding his face trailed down, moving over the cuts on his abdomen and teasing his way into his lap, which only confused X/N more. Was this…making this guy… _horny? What. The. Fuck._ Sure enough, Strade proceeded to lift his leg, resting his knee on X/N’s thigh, and he felt something hard and intimidatingly thick rub against his side. Fresh fear mixed with revulsion churned his stomach, and as his throat was effectively fucked by the vacuum, there was nothing he could do to stop the bile from racing up his esophagus. Watery, bitter-tasting vomit soon followed, covering the end and inside of the tube, as well as leaking out the corners of his mouth. He winced as the acid burned the hollow notch that once housed his missing tooth.

Strade’s breathy laughter swiftly turned into an angry snarl as the hand in X/N’s lap grabbed and twisted his privates with alarming force through his boxers, earning him another high-pitched, but muffled shriek.

_“Frecher welpe! Du hast dich ganz schön eingesaut…”,_ he scolded, yanking the nozzle out of his mouth and shoving it up against his eye-socket, glaze of puke and all.

“Gahhh!!! my fuckin’ NUTS… _gghhhn_ …what are you _saying,_ anyway? I don’t speak _Nazi,_ you crazy asshole!”, X/N howled, coughing and nearly doubling forward in pain but stopping himself so as not to impale his head on the vacuum.

Meanwhile, Ren rested his head in his hands, peering through his fingers at the increasingly frantic chat, steeling himself for the inevitable while Y/N worked a little faster, roughly forcing the awl under X/N’s thumbnail and pulling up with her own fingers instead of the pliers. She wanted to finish her job in time so she could finally witness whatever depraved shit Strade was planning on doing with that vacuum wand.

_let’s gooooo he’s gonna do it aw yiss say bye bye to your left eye fuckface um its his right tho the camera is mirrored man shut the fuck up nobody cares damn is he already hard oh shit look at this lil bitch’s hand it’s like he stuck it in a garbage disposal hehe i’d pay $$$ 2 suck on b3gcry’s shopvac if ya know what i mean ;-9_

“You know…I heard it takes very little suction to extract an eyeball from its socket. Far less than _this_ big ol’ thing here is capable of, I’d say…”, Strade said conversationally, like he was reading a fun fact off the inside of a bottle cap. He closed his fingers around the back of X/N’s neck, once again holding his head still. As his thumbnail hung from its nail bed by a thin string of flesh, he barely felt it, instead he was consumed by the impending panic of losing an eye.

“No, no, no, please god no, not the eye, not the _eye_ ….”, X/N repeated the words over and over rapid-fire, as it it was a magical incantation that would protect him somehow.

“…but you’re bringing it on yourself, _kumpel…_ making me clean up after you like this.”, Strade continued, slowly lowering his foot down to the switch on top of the main body of the vacuum. He couldn’t quite get it, however, and he nudged Y/N for assistance.

“ _Kätzchen._ The switch. _Jetz.”_

She bit her lower lip and hesitantly reached over to flick it to the “on” position, forcing herself to look up at X/N’s reddened, tear-streaked face. She wasn’t sure if she still wanted to see it, knowing what was going to happen, but now there was no choice and no time to debate the moral implications in her head.

The shop-vac was incredibly loud and all three of them could feel the rumble of the powerful machinery at their feet. Before he could even register what was going on, X/N’s right eyeball disappeared from its socket in less time than it took for Y/N to flip the switch that made it happen. It wasn’t even until a few seconds later that the screaming began.

_“Off.” ,_ Strade barked over the gratuitous noise, holding his free hand up in a halting gesture as he pulled the nozzle away. As the silence settled in again, he arched an amused eyebrow at the exposed optic nerve still connecting it to X/N’s skull and plucked it with one finger like a string on a guitar. 

“Haha…wouldja look at that…hmm…”, he mumbled curiously to himself before giving his pet her next command. It didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest that X/N was yelling himself hoarse, and at a volume that could wake the dead.

“Alright, reverse it.”

She pushed the tiny lever in the opposite direction, and she felt herself shudder with disgust at the sight of the ruined mass of red jelly that shot out of the end of the tube and splattered wetly against X/N’s face. The intense suction had burst the eyeball like a grape. Clear fluid and blood dripped down his cheeks and from the empty hollow of his vacated socket as he hung his head, pouring more of it into his lap. He thought some of the liquid soaking his underwear had to be urine judging by the smell, but really, did it even matter anymore? Just the sound of that obnoxious, boisterous laughter simply made him want to die enough as it was, never mind from the embarrassment of pissing himself.

“Well, there ya go, Absynt! Thanks again for that _wunderbar…._ ”eye”-dea!”, Strade called out, pointing to one of his own amber orbs with a cheeky wink at the camera.

“Ahahah…That sure was a lot of fun! Now…anyone else? I think there’s time for one more little request before we -” 

Strade cut himself off mid-sentence, clapping a hand to his sweaty forehead. 

“Ohh! Silly me…I always seem to forget the alcohol, don’t I?”

He pulled Y/N up by her forearm, then wrenched the knife out of the back of X/N’s hand, using the flat side of the bloody blade to tilt her chin up to meet his piercing stare.

“Go get the rubbing alcohol out of the med kit and pour some in one of the plastic cups by the sink. And don’t waste too much. …You remember where to find it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Stra- I mean, _sir._ Cabinet above the counter. Right side.”, she corrected herself as fast as she could, knowing better than to use his real name on stream.

“That’s right.”

He bent closer, narrowing his eyes under the shadow of his greasy hair and then nuzzled her face affectionately before shoving her away towards the counter.

VI. Slow Burn

“Aw hey now, buddy!…don’t check out on me just _yet…~”_

Strade hooked his thumb into X/N’s gaping, hollow eye socket to pull his head upright and he drawled out a gurgling groan of protest while his annoyingly upbeat captor played with the blood oozing from the deep gash in his mutilated hand. He figured he should probably be screaming and writhing from how many angles he was being inundated with severe injury and pain, but he just felt kind of….numb, overall. Numb and so very _tired._ The obnoxious laughter that had been like spikes driven into his ear canals now sounded far away, and he could barely see its source anymore now that he was permanently blind on that side.

“Hold on, this should perk you right up…Take a whiff!”

A plastic cup was thrust underneath his nose and the sharp aroma of the clear solution inside stung his nostrils. It reminded him vividly of the time he went to the emergency room to get stitches right above his eyebrow after wiping out on his skateboard. He closed his one remaining eye, desperately trying to imagine he was back there, being treated for more superficial cuts and scrapes, instead of trapped in an underground torture chamber with this giggly madman and his fawning minions.

“Is…is it o…ver?”, X/N asked nobody in particular, and without out much hope. The jarringly cruel answer came in the form of liquid fire consuming his ruined hand as it was suddenly submerged in antiseptic. The cup was also a bit too small and his sore fingers were painfully cramped together on top of the horrific burn of the alcohol eating away at his raw, tender nail beds. He bit down harshly on his lower lip, willing himself not to make any noise. Not only was he exhausted, he was also one thousand percent _done_ with serving that fucking deviant’s sick agenda. 

Even though Y/N had blatantly lied to and ultimately betrayed him, if she said this freak-show actually _enjoyed_ it when he screamed and cried, he had to believe her. Especially after all the moaning and the humping of his ribcage like a dog in heat. 

“Why…? Not having _fun_ anymore, _mein freund?”_

Strade’s friendly facade was cracking, growing increasingly agitated at X/N’s lukewarm response to the rubbing alcohol, but as his voice floated behind the chair it gradually calmed down again.

_“Tja…_ what if I told you that after one…last….hm, let’s say _test…_ that I would let you _go?”_

X/N’s eye flew open, dimly registering the sensation of his hand being removed from the cup and dried off with a dirty, scratchy rag cloth.

“Uhhh…?”, was all he managed to say to that as he tried to turn his head to look at the man that was talking to him in that temptingly hopeful tone.

“ _Ja,_ you heard me right! You could leave all this nasty business _faaar_ behind you…All you have to do is…”, Strade continued on, drawing out his words as he undid the knot restraining X/N’s arm to the chair and rubbed circles into his sore shoulders as if to soothe him. Just as he felt some of the tension coiled in his spine release, those same hands callously whipped him sideways off the seat to sprawl out on the cold, hard concrete. Before he could move a muscle, the bottom of Strade’s steel-toed boot came down hard on his side, rolling him easily onto his back. 

“…just lay back and _relaaax!~”_

Strade leaned down, shifting his weight forward onto X/N’s abdomen and his knife shone wetly under the jaundice-yellow lamplight, still slick with blood. He wiped the flat side off on X/N’s face like it was a towel, painting his cheeks bright red, then raised it briefly to point at Y/N with a flourish.

“Angle the camera down, then get over here. This was _your_ idea, so you’re doing the dirty work, _mein schatz.”_

She scrambled to obey, tilting the camera and checking the viewfinder before casting a cursory glance at Ren. He eyed her questioningly, the bluish glow from the laptop exaggerating his frightened features. 

“What is he…?”, he started to ask, almost silently mouthing the words, but she hurriedly turned away from him. 

“Just…don’t ask.”, she muttered over her shoulder, taking her place back on the floor by Strade’s feet. She was ashamed that poor Ren would be forced to bear witness to this… _fuckery,_ for lack of a better word, but she also really wanted to impress Strade more than anything. His “good job, _liebling’s”_ and doting head pats were like some kind of addiction to her at this point and, well, she needed her fix.

“Now don’t forget to smile for your _fans_ …I’m sure they all wanna see those pearly-whites!”, he ordered, reaching down to continue teasing X/N’s blood-streaked face with the blade, his tone bright and cheerful as the red recording light came back into view. X/N could only see it when he turned his head all the way to the side, and as he felt the cold metal trace around the outer edge of his empty eye socket, his mouth curved up weakly in one corner.

“…I know we’re doing things a bit…different…today, but I think you’ll all be pleasantly surprised, _meine treuen Anhänger._ To top it all off, I’ll be taking one final request before we end the stream! So be patient and, ah…”

It was then that Strade lowered his head slightly, fixing his audience with his alluring gaze as he slowly pushed his shaggy mop of hair back from his face.

“…Try not to lose your heads now, _ja?”_

Y/N wrung her hands in her lap and squeezed her thighs together in anticipation as she watched him slather on that irresistible charm like sickly-sweet frosting on a cake. He _had_ to know exactly what he was doing. For once, she was grateful that his arrogant grin was hidden by a mask…because those heavy-lidded eyes alone were absolutely _demolishing_ her.

_this is it boys the big one ya he got sumthin up his sleeve i know that look my man never disappoints give us the goods spill his guts mmm senpai ur so cool <3 plzzz cum kidnap me ;) jfc stop i’m wet no srsly my address is…_

With one last lingering glance up at the camera, Strade stopped posing like a hunter with a felled deer and calmly stepped back to sit himself down on the folding chair. He crossed his legs and peeled off one of his thick, black gloves to casually pick at some dried blood crusted under his nails with the knife. He tapped his foot on the ground a couple of times to get Y/N’s attention, despite already laying claim to that (and more) so long ago.

“I believe you’re up, _Kätzchen.”_

His voice dropped a few octaves as he shot a judgmental warning glare down at her from above, one eyebrow slightly raised.

_“Und…enttäuschen mich nicht.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely husband, "Absynt" for that incredibly tasteful shop-vac idea. You sick little monkey <3
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> So ist es brav, mein Kätzchen - There's a good kitten.
> 
> freundchen - buddy, pal (sarcastic)
> 
> gott verdammt - goddamned
> 
> Frecher welpe! - Naughty puppy!
> 
> Du hast dich ganz schön eingesaut... - You've made a mess of yourself...
> 
> kumpel - buddy, pal, dude
> 
> Kätzchen - Kitten
> 
> Jetz. - Now.
> 
> wunderbar - wonderful
> 
> mein freund - my friend
> 
> Tja... - Well...
> 
> mein schatz - my treasure
> 
> meine treuen Anhänger - my loyal followers
> 
> Und…enttäuschen mich nicht. - And...don't disappoint me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having his fingernails torn off and his eyeball sucked out with a vacuum, whatever else could happen to our heroine's cheating ex? 
> 
> Find out in the thrilling conclusion to Strade's happy-time torture porn hour!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna warn you friends, this chapter is kind of...alot. It's probably some of the most depraved, degrading smut I've ever written. Like, I love it so much but I'm also a little ashamed as well lol I dunno...but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless!
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you all <3

VII. On the Chopping Block

Leaning forward in the chair with both feet flat on the floor, Strade reached out to beckon Y/N closer. He kept his hand low to the ground to match her eye-level, rubbing his fingers and thumb together as if coaxing a skittish animal to come to him.

“Here, _liebe._ Wanna give ya something, first.”, he cooed softly, invitingly.

She made a move to rise and meet him, but immediately fell back upon hearing his low, disapproving growl.

“…NOT like that.”

He rounded off the sharp edge of his tone a bit when he saw her balk at the irritation in his voice, and that innocent, doe-eyed look of fear made his cock twitch involuntarily with want. As much as he hated waiting, it just wasn’t the right time yet.

_“Haustiere laufen nicht auf zwei Füßen wie Menschen._ Stay down…where you _belong.”_

Strade observed with amusement as Y/N crawled uncertainly over to him, her hands and sore knees sticking to the drying blood splashed on the floor in front of the chair and her eyes cast downwards in abject shame. He motioned for her to sit up, then took her hand in his. Using the tip of his knife he dragged a deep, stinging line across her palm, licking his lips hungrily at the perfect red beads that welled up in a row beneath the blade, as well as her pained expression and quiet gasp from him slicing into her flesh.

Then, only because he was safely situated just out of frame, he lowered his mask to spit directly on the wound. He locked eyes with hers while his saliva slowly dribbled into her waiting, cupped hand, where it pooled into a froth as it mingled with her blood.

“What do we say…?”, Strade asked her expectantly, curling a finger under her chin.

“Th-thank you…sir…”, she replied with a timid smile, relishing his touch, however minor. Not expecting him to suddenly bend down and greedily press his mouth to hers, she let out a tiny sound of surprise as his tongue effortlessly stole its way between her lips along with some excess drool. He messily broke the kiss as quickly as he initiated it, and snickered at her whine of dismay as he pulled away. Just before re-covering his face he turned to teasingly lick at her earlobe, imparting both a promise and a threat of what was to come in that beguiling native language of his. None of which, of course, she could possibly understand.

_“Nur ein kleiner Vorgeschmack, was auf dich zukommt...Sei besser bereit.”_

Y/N bit back a desperate moan at the feel of his tongue flicking against her ear and the almost breathless eagerness of his words. 

“Ahh…I don’t understand…what-“

“Don’t worry about it, just go do your job.”

With that, Strade sat back comfortably, crossing his legs and nonchalantly waggling his foot back and forth in the air.

“Y-yes, sir.” She nodded and turned around to reluctantly crawl her way back into the limelight, balancing on one hand so as not to spill a drop of Strade’s generous “gift.” She prayed that she could get this less than savory part over with and get to the good stuff with relative ease. Her just rewards.

If she still knew anything about her ex, this would be a quick endeavor indeed. She smirked bitterly as his only eye rolled lazily in her direction, mouth opening and closing as if he had something to say but unable to form any words. He raised a hand in weak protest as she reached into the opening at the front of his boxer shorts to pull out his flaccid member, trying hard to hide her blatant disgust. 

As she began to work it to its full (in the most loose sense of the term) length, she simply focused on a section of faded, brick-colored stains forming odd shapes on the floor. It was like watching clouds float by, imagining what they could be. Anything but looking at X/N or god forbid, making eye contact with the multitudes of blood-hungry miscreants on the other side of that camera lens. It was nerve-wracking enough just to have Strade staring daggers into her back, every tap of his boot on the concrete or clearing of his throat causing her to momentarily tense up. Anticipating with bated breath for his strong hand to clamp around her neck and the cool metal of his blade to press down between her shoulder-blades. One of the red smears even vaguely resembled his hunting knife.

Shivering with a mix of delight and dread alike at the thought of Strade brutally assaulting her from behind, Y/N switched hands, wincing as the fresh cut in her palm chafed painfully, flesh on flesh. Oh, how she wished that would happen. As fucked up as it was, she had learned to love the abuse. She supposed that it just came with the territory, falling for someone that did this kind of thing for a living…and Strade was _very_ passionate about his craft.

Y/N’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by the questionably lucid man she was currently jerking off, who was visibly upset by the sight of his dick being coated in a fine layer of blood and foamy spittle.

“Nnnuuuhhhooo….stawwwpp iihhtt…”

She had to stop herself from glaring and snapping at him to shut the fuck up, knowing that sort of treatment would most likely dampen the mood. Instead she smiled sweetly and leaned towards him, subtly pushing her breasts together and picking up the pace with her hand. 

“Aw, but don’t you like it? I just wanna make you feel good…”, she insisted in what she hoped was a sultry tone. As far as “engaging” with Strade’s victims live on stream, or simply for his own private entertainment, this was far from her first rodeo. She harbored no animosity or ill-will towards any of those people and even found some of them attractive. She was just doing what was expected of her, and that was above all, to make him happy. But _this,_ on the other hand…this was a bit different.

X/N was someone that she actively hated and really despised touching in any way. This time it _was_ personal, and she was confident that the second phase of her plan was going to be a success. This would all be worth it in the end. She was counting on it.

As if on cue, she heard the chair creak behind her as Strade got to his feet and ambled over to his work bench.

“Carry on, don’t mind me.”, he said with a disparaging wave of his hand as he walked by.

“Heyy..I guess this’s OK…if it’s you…”, X/N told her, his breathing becoming labored for reasons other than pain or fear. 

“Jus’…just keep that…motherfucker…away from me…” He managed a small, half-hearted laugh that almost made her feel bad. _Almost._ There was nothing funny about the hard glimmer of the weighty object in Strade’s one gloved hand as he scraped it against the whetstone, humming cheerfully to himself.

_Shing. Shhingg. Ssshhinngg._

_“_ …Whaddat noise…?”, X/N slurred, slowly rocking his head back and forth on the floor. He didn’t seem to care all that much about it though, because she could feel him pulse and grow even more rigid in her tight, slickened grip. He had to be close now.

_Hurry up, Strade…_

For being such an impatient man, he sure did love taking his own sweet time.

“Nnn…ahh, shit… _Shit…!”_ , X/N groaned, clawing at the floor by his side with his good hand.

“St-…S-Sir! He…I think it’s time!”, she finally called out, flinching at how loud and abrasive her voice sounded in the quiet basement.

“Already? _Hah!_ You weren’t kidding about him, were you _schatzi?”_

He gave the implement a final once-over, testing it with his fingertip, then pulled his other glove back on and casually strolled over. Dropping a large, wooden board to clatter on the floor and nudging it underneath X/N’s head like a pillow, Strade crouched down and planted his free hand on his clammy forehead. Then, dragging his fingers back into his hair to harshly stretch his neck as far as it would go, he pulled out the big surprise from behind his back.

“Oh, man…oh, _NO…”,_ Ren whimpered to himself, his ears flattened back into his orange hair and only his eyes peeking up above his shaky hands. The chat was running a mile a minute as Strade raised the massive, hulking meat cleaver high above his head, his golden eyes huge and shining with deranged malice.

_oh fuck yes here we go we eatin good now boys yoooo that the obliterator!? he hasn’t used that beast in ages well no better time than now am i right that thing is an absolute unit sho-nuff ahhh yeahh b3gcry senpai obliterate me next baby ^_^_

As soon as X/N caught sight of the medieval-looking torture device hovering over his face, so large it blocked out the glow of the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, it was then that he realized with abrupt, sickening horror that the piece of wood on which his head rested was none other than a cutting board. His partially-lowered eyelid shot up like a window-shade, mouth stretching wide and his limp arms flailing uselessly as he tried and failed to force out a final scream.

“I hate to break this to you, buddy…but all that stuff about letting you go? Well…”

Strade swung the cleaver in a tight, downwards arc, sinking the heavy blade into the vulnerable meat of X/N’s throat with an animalistic growl. His considerable strength combined with the punishing force of the freshly sharpened steel was more than enough to cleanly decapitate him with one swift blow, striking the wood underneath. A warm geyser of arterial spray showered across the floor, as well as all over Strade’s boots and cargo pants. He grinned behind his skull mask, a cruelly fitting personification of the macabre goings-on in this slaughterhouse. 

“…I guess I lied!~”, Strade said blithely, with a little shrug.

He was barely able to suppress a guffaw of crazy laughter while X/N convulsed in his death throes at his feet, his open eye maintaining a hint of awareness as the vital connection between his brain and heart was cut short. A second later, the headless corpse ejaculated messily all over its own stomach and Y/N’s hand, causing her to fling herself backwards and stare at the sticky, disgusting cocktail of drying blood, saliva, and semen dripping from her hand. She had a brief flash of “oh my god what have I done” style remorse pass through her mind, but once she saw the fog of lust descend briefly over Strade’s gaze as he met her eyes, any other thoughts were extinguished as quickly as her ex’s life had just been. 

Now all that mattered was that she wanted him. Badly.

So her idea had worked, after all. A dead body _could_ still achieve orgasm after the head was removed…something she remembered quite vividly from an episode of her roommate’s favorite TV show. She supposed she had _her_ to thank for this, at least somewhat.

Scooping up the severed head and tossing it around playfully between his hands like a rubber ball, Strade swiveled on his heels to address the audience, ignoring the pool of blood spreading around his boots.

“And there you have it! Quite the ending, eh? I must give due credit to my assistant, however…”

He suddenly threw the head at her, and she yelped in surprise, dodging to the side as it narrowly missed her face. It hit the concrete with a wet splat behind her, and she stared at him in exasperated disbelief. He could be _such_ a child sometimes.

“Aww… _Du bist zu langsam, tollpatschiges Mädchen!_ Oh, well. Last requests anybody? I can see that you’ve all been very generous so far, so there must be _something_ you’d like to see before we go?”

Almost immediately Ren spoke up, eyes darting nervously to and fro as he turned around to announce the final donation of the day.

“Goregalore86….$15,000…they want you to…uh, cut him open…a-and…”

Strade stopped him there, holding up his hand to signal him to be quiet. He knew exactly what his top contributer was asking for. Ever since Y/N had started appearing regularly on his livestreams, goregalore86 had taken a keen liking to his shy assistant and almost always paid handsomely to see him violate her on camera, often in degrading and humiliating ways. Whenever one of Strade’s “guests” met their end before he could sign off, they would usually want him to disembowel the corpse and fuck the shit out of her on top of all the gore that spilled out everywhere, getting it all over them both. Predictably, today was no different.

Of course, Strade was planning on doing exactly that anyway, but he wasn’t about to turn down fifteen grand. 

“Can I…g-go now…?”, Ren pleaded with him meekly, his voice little more than a squeak.

Gazing down with a dreamy look in his eye as he pushed his hand into the exposed meat of X/N’s open neck-hole, watching the blood seep out through his fingers, Strade gave an agreeable, if distracted, nod.

“Sure, sure. The grown-ups are gonna have some private time, anyways. Oh, and make us some lunch while you’re at it!”

Ren was already halfway up the stairs, bounding swiftly on all fours. Strade didn’t have to twist his arm on that one, no siree.

_“Danke,_ g.g.86! This one’s for you, bud! _”_ , Strade thanked him with a little salute before wrenching the Obliterator out of the cutting board and bringing it down once more, this time right into the middle of X/N’s motionless chest. There was a loud crack as the powerful blade splintered the ribcage, and he dragged it down all the way through the stomach, parting the skin with minimal effort. Y/N moved closer to him, watching with cringing fascination as he wiped the cleaver off on his already stained pant leg and plunged both hands into the abdominal cavity, tugging at the sides to widen the gap. Like a kid in a sandbox, he played around inside the corpse’s guts, pulling out fistfuls of crimson gore and viscera, and drenching his arms up to the elbow with glistening blood.

As he yanked out a length of intestine, he held it up to show the camera, then looped it around Y/N’s shoulders to lasso her closer to his side. She made a face, but didn’t resist as he picked up a dripping chunk of some unidentified organ from the sloppy pile next to him and stuffed it into her mouth. It tasted awful, slimy and hot, but she could tell without looking that it made him smile and that was enough for her.

“Make sure you swallow it, _liebling…”,_ he purred next to her ear, running a finger down her throat as if to help it go down. Once he was satisfied, he began his outro, knowing he would be much too… _busy_ to bid everyone farewell from this point going forward.

“I will leave you all with some words to live by, _meine Freunde._ Take it from me, your humble host, B3G_CRY…If you do what you love every day…you will surely find true happiness…So slash subscribe, and I’ll see ya next time!~”

VIII. _Fleisch auf Film_

_“_ …Now _where_ were we…? Oh, right! Wait here, _schatz.”_

Strade walked over to pick up X/N’s severed head, lying on its side in a splatter of its own blood. Propping it upright on the folding chair, he chuckled at the slack-jawed expression of horror frozen onto its cold, dead face. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, using it to form a nest around the neck to keep it in place. Before he turned away, he gave X/N’s cheek a friendly pat, leaving a tacky red handprint. 

Y/N obediently remained on her knees by the corpse’s side with her hands folded in her lap, but she shuddered as he returned, also kneeling down behind her and planting his gore-caked hands firmly on her shoulders. Blood dripped in thin rivulets over her collarbones and the curves of her breasts, seeping into the low neckline of her white lace slip, Strade’s chosen uniform of choice for her performances on camera. Perhaps it reminded him of the first day they met when he poured a cherry-flavored sports drink all over her white bra, most likely imagining it was her blood instead. Of course, he had then proceeded to rip it to shreds with his bare hands. As his fingertips glided along her arms, taking the flimsy straps down with them, he caught her glancing off to the side at the disembodied head of her ex staring sightlessly back at them with one glazed-over eyeball. 

“Umm…”, she started to say, looking over her shoulder questioningly at him. She sounded uneasy.

“What? I want him to watch…That way maybe I can teach him a thing or two about the _right_ way to treat a lady!~”

“But he’s…dead.”, she argued, feeling her heartbeat quicken as Strade’s aggressive, filthy hands continued to touch her everywhere, preparing her for the real grand finale of this bloodbath.

“Well, I am of the mind…”, he purred into her disheveled hair, forcefully bringing her hands together in front of her chest with one of his own. His other crept along her thigh, leaving more glossy trails of blood with his fingers that only served to emphasize the assortment of raised, jagged scars on her otherwise smooth skin.

“…that it’s never too late to learn something new.”, he finished with a facetious growl of laughter in recognition of how silly that statement was, and she couldn’t help but giggle herself in spite of the bizarre circumstances. One of the many things Y/N had come to love about Strade besides his unshakable alpha-male confidence and virtually insatiable sex drive, was his endearingly eye-rolling sense of humor. If he hadn’t ended up finding his true calling as an actual homicidal maniac, surely he could have pursued a lucrative career writing jokes for popsicle sticks and the backs of cereal boxes.

“You’re too quiet, _liebling…”,_ Strade remarked, tying her wrists together using entrails as a makeshift rope. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned down, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck above her shock collar. 

“Talk to me, _ja?_ Tell Daddy what you’re thinking.”

_Oh, this again._ Y/N knew she was in for a rough time when Strade referred to himself as the big “D” word. Even though it had a certain appeal, this usually meant he was in the mood to be excessively domineering and cruel. It would end with her bleeding…a lot…and leave her bruised and sore for days, if not the rest of the week. Maybe longer, depending on how merciful he felt like being. She should have known it all along. 

Genuine kindness only came from Strade at a high price.

“I…I-I…”, she stammered, unsure of what to even say. The part of her brain that was responsible for coherent speech simply couldn’t function properly when he was pressed this close against her back, his painfully obvious erection digging into her spine through his pants and his curious fingers undressing her so casually.

_“Hmm?_ I’m _waiting…”,_ he hissed, violently shoving his hand down the front of her panties to tease at her clit. Though the damp leather felt particularly odd on that most sensitive of areas, she could tell his patience was wearing thin by the painful amount of pressure he was using so she scrambled to respond as quickly as she could despite the overstimulation. Something he would enjoy. Something to boost his already inflated ego.

“Ahh!!…well, I just…I was thinking you looked so _amazing_ earlier. Just…just watching you with that big butcher knife…it made me so…w-wet for you…”

_“…And?”_

Instantly ceasing the circular motion of his leather-clad fingertip, Strade grabbed her face harshly and twisted her around to look up at him in confusion, one eyebrow arched in expectation. After a moment’s thought, she figured out what he wanted to hear.

“…wet for you… _Daddy.”,_ Y/N mumbled, shyly avoiding his unnerving gaze as she began to feel a warm blush creep into her cheeks. He got a good chuckle out of that, but still pulled both of his hands away nonetheless, slicking back some of his unruly hair tendrils with the excess blood. Her heart sank, and she bit her lip to stop herself from whining at the loss of contact.

“As much as I love when you say things like that, _Kätzchen,_ I’m not sure if I believe you. I think I need to check for myself to make sure you’re, ah…telling the truth…”, Strade insisted, tugging the gauzy fabric aside completely and brushing two fingers against her slit. He noted with perverse pleasure that she was in fact, soaked. Seemingly satisfied, he brought his coated fingers back up to her lips, prompting her to eagerly lick his gloves clean without being asked. There was still so much blood on his hand, she couldn’t even taste herself and some of it ended up dripping down her chin. It didn’t matter because she was already a mess, and it could only get worse from here.

“Mmm…such a good girl. You weren’t lying to me, after all…”

_Fuck,_ how much longer was he going to toy with her? He was purposefully dragging this out, biding his time. Forcing her to stew in her own literal juices was its own form of torture in itself, and it sure as _hell_ was one of his favorites. But maybe…just maybe, she could convince him to get on with it.

“Of course not! I would _never_ lie to you, sir. M-my…my pussy is always wet and ready for you…your…thick…h-hard…cock…”, she blurted out awkwardly, growing bolder the more aroused she became. The Y/N from just a few months ago would have simply dropped dead on the spot from embarrassment just _thinking_ about uttering something so vulgar. Strade, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life.

“Bahahahah!!! Ooh, is that so, _liebling…?_ And what, exactly, do you want me to do about _that,_ huh?”

He was clearly mocking her now, but she was just too far gone to care. She squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself for the ridiculous word-vomit that was about to pour out of her mouth.

“Please fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me until I can’t _walk_ anymore! I…I’ll do _anything_ for you!”, Y/N cried out, sounding hopelessly pathetic to her own ears. She regretted adding that last part as soon as she heard another peal of Strade’s smug laughter and his hand grasped the top of her head, his other forming a fist that cracked into the center of her back to suddenly bend her over the body at a whiplash-inducing velocity. Her face stopped short so close to the gory, excavated abdominal cavity that the ends of her shoulder-length hair were dipped in blood. The stench of death wafting up from the gaping incision was nearly enough to make her choke on top of having the wind knocked out of her by his fist.

Even without Ren there to read their input, the lovable crowd of degenerates in the chat were still hanging out, watching this debauchery unfold like a bunch of voyeurs. 

_yoooo_ _the thirst iz real lol wow hottt so glad i stuck around imagine if he put it in the guy first tho lmaooo gross dude that’s pretty sus fuck off virgin don’t tell me you never rub one out after their dead nah man i aint about that necro shit can yall get 2 the fuckin already i got work in 30_

_“Glücklich, meine eifrige kleine Schlampe…”_

Winding her hair tightly around his fingers to keep her still, Strade used his free hand to undo his belt and zipper. He had just about had his fill of playing with her, especially since he had been so hard for so long that it was beginning to ache, and not in a pleasant “oh, I’m getting pretty excited” kind of way. More on the…”I will slit your throat and penetrate the wound if I don’t get what I want” end of the horny spectrum. But he thought perhaps he could hold out just a _little_ while longer before seeking that much-needed relief.

“…but first…I wanna hear you _beg_ a bit more. It’s just so cute…seeing what a desperate little _whore_ you are for me.”

Wrapping his hand around the base, he rubbed the leaking head of his throbbing length against her entrance, pushing inside ever so slightly…only to pull back again at the sound of her delighted mewling, riling her up exponentially. Starting to lose his cool at her delayed reaction, he leaned over her back to grab her by the throat, breathing hard and hot down the back of her neck.

“I don’t think you heard me, _Herzchen._ I _said…”,_ he began, tone dangerously low and threatening, and a strained sounding whimper escaped her lips as her air supply slowly dwindled. 

“….BEG. FOR. IT.” It was a crystal-clear command that reverberated in her increasingly light head, his voice wavering only slightly with lustful instability. Strade was done fucking around with her. He loosened his bruising grip just enough to allow her to choke out her next words, and grinned deviously at how pitiful her raspy cries sounded.

“Nnnghh…P-please…just… _wreck_ me, Daddy! Fuck me so hard and…and _deep_ that I can’t even remember my own name!!”, Y/N pleaded with him, her voice rising in pitch as he viciously yanked her head back by her hair. He wanted to make sure he could see that adorably needy look on his kitten’s face when he finally gave her what she deserved.

Without any other warning, he plowed all eight thick inches of his fat cock inside her warm, welcoming tightness with one savage thrust of his hips. His grimy hair tumbled back onto his forehead as he arched forward over her upturned face, his unearthly aureate eyes wide open and pupils blown out like he had just taken a heavy dose of ecstasy. The initial amount of force behind it would have been enough to send her flying face-first into the mutilated corpse’s guts if he hadn’t been holding fast to her scalp. 

Instead, he just did that part himself.

Her moaning cries turned into a bubbling scream of revulsion as he slammed her entire head down into the steaming, putrid-smelling offal with a comically wet-sounding squish. Clotted blood and clumps of dislodged tissue and meat flooded her open mouth, as well as her nostrils and eyes. The more she attempted to lift her head or thrash around, the further he pushed her, squeezing the back of her skull hard enough to worsen the burgeoning migraine she knew she would be suffering from later. Within seconds, she had stopped struggling and the only sound was the faint, merry jingle of the bell on her collar and his heavy panting as he worked his way up to a frantic speed without any rhythm.

_“Ach, f-ficken!!…Du nimmst mich so nett, meine süße kleine Hure…”,_ Strade growled between teeth that were clenched almost as tight as her dripping cunt felt around his substantial girth. Just when it seemed like he was going to let her drown submerged in hot viscera he hoisted her back up again, enjoying the lovely noises she made, coughing and sputtering uncontrollably after he allowed her to resurface. 

Through it all, his pace remained as relentless as ever, ramming in and out of her with unforgiving brutality. Using the tangled hair clutched in his fist as a leash, he dragged her ass back against him, which he struck repeatedly with the palm of his free hand when it wasn’t locked onto her hip. The wet leather of his glove made it hurt even more than usual, the only difference being he couldn’t rake his nails into her reddened, bare flesh afterwards, drawing blood from the deep, angry scratches. Although, that could always come later. 

They had time…and so did their audience, apparently. 

_ok i know i said this like a zillion times but god i wish that were me :( :( :( jesus another horny slut just dm him ur # if u wanna fuck him so bad i bet he’s dtf seems kinda chill tbh what u mean chill bruh he cut a mans fucking head off like 2 secs ago damn ooh u really think so ^.^ hell no dumb cunt he’d straight up waste ur stupid ass wait did he just like give that bitch a swirlie heyy check ur inbox senpai u can hmu anytime ;)_

Y/N’s face was now an oozing scarlet mask of blood and gore. Blood, in fact, that had gotten _everywhere._ Trickling down her throat, clogging her nostrils, and spilling from her parted lips. It ran down in globs and streams, painting her neck and chest like some kind of gruesome work of art and she spit repeatedly, trying to clear her mouth of the nasty flavor. It was all she could taste, all she could see, and as she regained enough composure to realize that what Strade was doing behind her actually felt pretty nice, she made the terrible mistake of saying his name out loud. The fact that they were still live and recording had simply slipped her mind. He was good at making her forget these things.

“Ahhnn… _fuuuck…_ S-Stra- _ddmmmmpph!!!“,_ was as far as she got before he shoved her back in again with an enraged snarl, this time hard enough to disorient her and tear out a chunk of her hair as he wrenched her scalp downwards. Without the relatively soft cushioning of the dead body underneath her to soften the impact, her skull probably would have caved in like a rotten pumpkin.

The second time around, he held her under for a few seconds longer and when he whipped her back up again her entire front was a grotesque, soggy mess, chest heaving and shoulders shaking. He hooked one arm around her waist and pulled her back into his lap while still grasping onto her hair, which was also now drenched in blood, forcing her hips down on top of him as deep as possible with one especially vicious thrust of his own. They stayed just like that for a moment while he used the hand not wound up in her hair to smear blood all over her chest, stomach, and thighs, spreading and rubbing it in like some kind of exotic massage oil. 

Leaning in, Strade turned her head towards his by tugging her hair, pressing their faces together with only the thin cloth of his mask as a barrier between their lips, staining the skull’s bone-white teeth with blood. Her labored respiration slowed as she calmed down, grateful for the comparatively gentle touch and short break he was giving her, and she allowed her tired eyes to close.

“Hahh…I’m afraid…this’s not enough, _Schätzchen…”,_ he panted against her mouth, gradually spinning her body around to face him as well. 

“What else do you need…? W-whatever…you want…I’m…yours…”, Y/N offered shyly, overcome with desire and completely under his control as he wrapped her legs around his waist. The coagulated blood caked all over her body stuck to his chest as he pulled her even closer. The enticing, coppery aroma was starting to make him salivate. 

“Aw, _wie süß, mein haustier…_ makes me wanna… _mm_ …. _taste_ you.” Strade’s voice was a sinister, hissing whisper, and he yanked her head back to get at the exposed part of her throat above her collar, licking it through his mask. With a low growl of frustration, he tackled her to the ground and she yelped as her aching back hit the startlingly cold concrete. Their faces were shrouded in shadow and safely out of the camera’s viewfinder, now only being visible from the waist down. A trail of blood and uncoiled intestine led back to X/N’s defiled corpse, endlessly watched over by his own decapitated head. Even this obstructed view wasn’t enough to deter the people at home from staying until the end.

The screams alone were enough to keep them interested.

IX. Cut and Scene

Without any time wasted on Strade’s part, he resumed fucking into her hard and fast, her blood-soaked hair painting the floor underneath her head while she tossed it back and forth. He clawed at his own face to uncover it, and she cried out as she looked up at the absolutely feral look of bloodlust tainting his handsome features.

“Ahh… _hahahh_ ….Like what ya see?…”, he chuckled darkly, holding her face in both hands to make sure her eyes didn’t stray from his. He ran his thumb tenderly along her cheek, in jarring contrast to what was going on with her lower half. The way he was jack-hammering her ass into the ground was scraping her skin raw and she could only gasp in reply.

“Y’know…you’re really cute when you’re scared... _schüchterne kleine Maus, nicht wahr?_

It was a sight both horrific and arresting as Strade stared her down with a hunger so unmatched, one would think he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. Now complete with that trademark demented grin of his, reserved for special occasions such as this. She followed his tongue as it swiped across his upper lip, his eyes narrowing down to cold, cruel slivers of tarnished gold that glowed faintly in the shadows.

She wasn’t surprised to see his pointy canines slick with drool or the tiny thread of it hanging from the corner of his mouth, swinging with his frenzied movements as it dripped further and further. Before it could touch her already wet red lips, he fell on them sloppily, slobbering like a rabid animal. His tongue snaked down her throat, and she moaned wantonly into the kiss as his thrusts intensified and their combined pleasure started to mount to its maddening peak.

Pulling back from her mouth with blood on his face, Strade bit harshly into the shell of her ear, his breath hot and ragged on her skin. The way his seductive growls were amplified in her pounding head caused her muscles to reflexively tense up around his huge cock as it tenderized her sensitive insides with increasing fervor. He dragged his warm, slimy tongue over her face and down her neck to her chest, sinking his teeth into her supple flesh and covering her breasts and even her restrained hands and wrists with bite marks, a few deep enough to draw blood. Between each one he moaned incoherently with a hint of German sprinkled throughout while she screamed and writhed beneath him.

_“Kein gutes…hahhh….Ihr hat….grrrahh…mmmehr…Ge-Geschmack…ahh…liebling…”_

Just then his eyes gleamed mischievously as an idea came to him, unbeknownst to Y/N who was understandably distracted at the time. Lying about a foot away was the Obliterator, still doused in drying gore as well as the discarded cutting board. His eyes darted sideways as he located them and reached over, fumbling to slide them over. He slowed his pace a bit, gently lifting the back of her head to slide the board underneath, his smile widening when her brow furrowed in stunned perplexity. 

“Whatever I want… _right…?”_

Confusion gave way to full on fear as the gargantuan meat cleaver emerged into her line of sight.

“But…but…please…I-I didn’t mean…NO!”

The blade came down, chopping into the cutting board with a loud “thuck!” mere inches from her panic-stricken face, severing a small lock of her hair that happened to be in its way in the process. Strade threw his head back and laughed like a fucking hyena, at the same time continuing his unrelenting assault on her weak, exhausted frame. 

“AhahaHAAH! Sorry, _Kätzchen_ …I _did_ say you look cute when you’re scared…”

He leaned down and nuzzled her face apologetically, his scruffy jaw tickling her cheek. Everything was starting to overload her senses and her psyche, fragile from trauma as it already was. Anxiety, fear, pain, pleasure, even love. It was all becoming too much and she suddenly broke down, sobbing helplessly in his arms. The sound of her crying, of course, did nothing to quell his appetite for depravity and he eagerly lapped up her tears as if they were some divine nectar. 

While he pacified her with sweet words and deceptively soft kisses, he reached down to retrieve his knife from the holster attached to his loosened belt. Straightening himself up, he picked up her leg to rest her calf on his shoulder, lifting her hips up off the floor as well. He hungrily eyed the underside of her thigh. Most of the scars he had given her were on the top so this area was smooth and almost vexingly flawless. 

Without thinking, he sliced into it just below the back of her knee, humming with approval as she shed more tears and the dark red line also began to well up and spill over. In this new position he was able to stuff himself even deeper into her swollen, abused cunt, using her quivering leg as leverage to do so. He lowered his head to smother the fresh cut with his mouth, teasingly prodding at other spots with the knife while he decided where to open her up next.

_“Mmmm_ …mmhmmmnnnaahhh…ohh, _reizend…”_

As Strade edged closer and closer to finishing inside of her, he spurred himself on by vigorously tongue-fucking the deep lacerations he had created all along her inner thigh while narrow rivers of blood mixed with frothy saliva trickled down between her legs. Y/N was caught halfway between a screech and a moan as she felt the tip of his tongue working its way through the stinging slit in her flesh, unsure if the pleasure was outshining the pain, but she thought deliriously to herself how sexy he looked licking her wounds like that. Like he was eating them out.

_“So…nah jetzt...kann ich es fühlen…”,_ he groaned through his teeth, bringing the flat side of his blade to her face to caress her cheek.

“How bad…d’ya want it, _Schlampe…?”_

Y/N gazed at Strade pleadingly, her hands already in the perfect position to beg her master for mercy. He nearly shot his load from that pretty picture alone.

“Ahhhnnn…Really _, really_ bad….please, Daddy…fill my pussy up!!”

With a rumbling, bestial growl, he arched his back inward, stabbing his knife into the cutting board on the other side of her face, and it was the resulting intense rush of adrenaline that finally sent her screaming to her long-awaited climax. He gnawed on her thigh, shaking his head like a dog with a piece of meat as he came so abruptly and with such force that it began to seep from between her legs before he could even pull out. He stayed inside of her, feeling her walls contract to milk him dry and collapsed onto her chest while they recovered from the exertion, both of them caked in gore and dripping with sweat.

Dead tired and beyond satisfied, Strade closed his eyes as he drifted toward a well-deserved nap, completely forgetting the camera was still rolling. It was Y/N that spoke first, and his heavy eyelids lifted only slightly, one side of his mouth twitching up in a sleepy grin.

“Looks like I’ll have a few new scars now…”, she muttered, though her tone almost seemed to suggest a begrudging appreciation for that fact.

“Ah, _liebling…_ you can never have too many…”

Propping himself up on his elbow, he lightly traced a finger over the ones on her stomach that spelled out his name.

“They’re just little reminders…so ya don’t forget!”

She knew exactly what Strade was going to tell her next, having heard it so frequently in a variety of situations. That didn’t matter, though. Her heart still melted every single time, no matter if it was delivered with affection, passion, or even fury.

“…You’re _mine.”_

“Of course, sir.”

Just before fixing himself up and his blood-spattered mask back into place so he could stop the recording and cut the feed, he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose, offering her that big, jolly “hey buddy!” grin but not bothering to untie the entrails binding her wrists or remove the dangerous utensils sticking up out of the cutting board. He would cut those off and help her to her wobbly feet before heading back upstairs, she knew. Or _hoped._

Even more than a nice, hot bubble bath in which to scrub herself clean and soothe her aching… _everything,_ Y/N wanted so badly to tell Strade how much she loved him, how much she adored being his spoiled, little  ~~sex slave~~ pet…but decided that the moment for that had already passed. The last time she had said those words was also the first, and he had only appeared to be puzzled and annoyed at best by such sentiment. She sighed, supposing she would have to settle for whispering her pent-up confessions of eternal devotion to him while he slept, as always.

X. Friend Request

With a quick wave at the camera before shutting it off, Strade leaned on the table in front of the laptop while he scrolled all the way down to find out how much money he had made in donations and deposit it all into his bank account.

“Hm. Not bad…not bad at all…”, he mumbled under his breath. In total, he had raked in nearly thirty grand counting the numerous smaller amounts from subscribers who simply enjoyed his work and wanted to show their loyalty and support to their favorite “content creator.”

Right when he was about to log off the server and close the laptop, the notification next to his personal inbox declaring that he had received “(1) New Direct Message!” caught his eye and he paused, blinking a couple of times. He didn’t see very many of those anymore, probably because he ignored most of them. Usually spam mail or the occasional clueless solicitor looking to sponsor him, having no idea what kind of channel he ran. Damned vultures.

A crooked smile slowly worked its way across his blood-streaked face, and he subtly chewed his lower lip with mild intrigue when he saw the username it came from without actually opening it.

Strade was looking forward to reading _that…_ after lunch.

The man was _starving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The Obliterator is an actual professional-grade meat cleaver that I own. I assure you that everything I wrote about it is, in fact, true. It is an absolute beast of a knife.
> 
> Check it out here! ---> https://dalstrong.com/products/gladiator-series-obliterator-meat-cleaver
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> liebe - love
> 
> Haustiere laufen nicht auf zwei Füßen wie Menschen. - Pets don't walk on two feet like people.
> 
> Nur ein kleiner Vorgeschmack, was auf dich zukommt... - Just a taste of what's coming for you...
> 
> Sei besser bereit. - Better be ready.
> 
> schatzi - sweetheart
> 
> Du bist zu langsam, tollpatschiges Mädchen! - You're too slow, clumsy girl!
> 
> Danke - Thank you
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> meine Freunde - my friends
> 
> Fleisch auf Film - Flesh on Film
> 
> schatz - treasure, sweetheart
> 
> Kätzchen - Kitten
> 
> Glücklich, meine kleine eifrige Schlampe… - Happily, my eager little slut...
> 
> Herzchen - sweetheart
> 
> Ach, f-ficken!!... - Oh, f-fuck!!...
> 
> Du nimmst mich so nett, meine süße kleine Hure… - You take me so nicely, my sweet little whore...
> 
> Schätzchen - baby
> 
> wie süß, mein haustier... - how sweet, my pet...
> 
> schüchterne kleine Maus, nicht wahr? - shy little mouse, aren't you?
> 
> Kein gutes... - No good...
> 
> Ihr hat - You have/Yours has
> 
> mehr... - more...
> 
> Geshmack - flavor
> 
> reizend... - lovely...
> 
> So…nah jetzt...kann ich es fühlen… - So...close now...I can feel it...
> 
> Schlampe - slut


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a very intense, very *successful* snuff stream, Strade and his pets relax and unwind for the rest of the day.
> 
> ...but who is behind that mysterious private message?

XI. Lunchtime

Since there wasn’t much food left in the house, their next meal just turned out to be more re-heated leftover pizza, but Strade and Y/N were way too hungry to complain much. Ren sat at the kitchen table, nibbling on his slice while trying not to gape at the two of them too obviously. They both still looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of red paint over their heads and their messy hair was matted with sweat. Not to mention the dazed expressions of content on their slightly flushed faces.

Strade pet his swishing tail, purposefully wiping off a little bit of blood onto his fur, then flopped into his seat with a loud sigh. He peeled off his dirty gloves and dropped them next to his plate before snatching a piece of pizza from the box in the middle of the table. Ren made a face and got up to pour them some drinks while Strade proceeded to scarf down his food in huge, sloppy bites.

“Great job today, you two!”, he addressed them both with his mouth full of dough and gooey cheese. 

“… _mmph_ …mmm…We made… _mm!!_ …a real _killing_ down there! It seems that the crowd especially enjoyed _your_ , ah…little contribution to the show, _liebling.”_

He managed to clap Y/N on the back in the exact spot that he had punched her earlier and she gasped mid-bite, squeezing one eye shut against the pain.

“Haha…yeah. Well, I’m glad it worked at least.”, she agreed, smiling sheepishly down at her plate. An image of the flash of betrayal in X/N’s eyes as they met hers a few seconds before his head was separated from his shoulders passed through her mind. She was more than a little concerned that her only instinct was to laugh. Strade was really rubbing off on her. (In more ways than one, apparently.)

“I gotta ask though, where did ya get the idea from? I don’t recall ever trying something like that…not since I’ve had _you,_ anyway.”

Y/N looked up to accept a glass of lemonade from Ren, opening her mouth to thank him, but was surprised to see him regarding her with an uncharacteristically cool, unsmiling expression. 

“Yeah…do tell.”, he muttered with the barest hint of sarcasm, pitcher in one hand and the other planted on his hip.

“Oh! Uh…just some…show. I saw it on TV.”

Strade chuckled and took a swig of his lemonade, then wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. More blood smeared under his nose like a mustache, but of course, he didn’t notice or care.

“Haha! Really? The things they get away with nowadays…Well, regardless, I’m gonna have to start coming to you for creative consulting from now on, _ja?_ Call it a promotion!”

Smiling brightly with his front teeth also lightly stained red with either blood or marinara sauce, he reached for a second helping. She clutched her untouched glass in both hands, unsure of what to even say to that. However, there wasn’t enough time to think before Ren hesitantly asked how their trip was.

“So…where did you guys go? …I-If you don’t mind me asking?…”

Y/N stayed silent as she continued to stare into her lemonade, letting Strade do the talking without being prompted. He was the true storyteller in the room, a regular chatty Cathy.

“Well, let’s see…first we stopped by my buddy’s place, but he wasn’t home so we ended up staying in this charming little motel for the night. So cozy! Then _last_ night, I took Y/N out on the town as a little treat. And you’ll never guess who we ran into!…”, he paused for effect, and Ren looked from side to side, eyebrows raised. He hadn’t left the property in well over a year, how the hell was he supposed to know? Ren sighed heavily, reluctantly humoring him.

“…I dunno…who?”

“Dr. Kojima! You remember him, right? He fixed you up real good after that nasty little accident you had last winter!”

He relayed this riveting tale excitedly, waving his half-eaten slice of pizza around as he talked with his hands, and Ren absently reached down to touch the prominent scar in his side where Strade had gotten a bit too overzealous with the knifeplay. Thinking about the doctor’s cold silver eye peeking out from under the shadow of his jet black hair and his freezing hands on his tender skin as he used his mysterious abilities to heal the life-threatening wound caused a shiver to run up his back like someone had poured ice water down his shirt.

Despite the fact that he owed Sano his life, Ren couldn’t help but view the doctor with skeptical distrust. There was just something about him that seemed like he thought of his patient as nothing but a specimen, a test subject for experimentation rather than a person in dire need of care. Regardless of how he felt, Strade continued his happy-go-lucky, watered down version of these events without waiting for an answer.

“We had a nice visit with him for a while and Y/N ran into an old friend of hers too!…as you know. What a small world, eh _schatzi?”_

She nodded, debating in her head whether or not she should tell Ren everything later or not, wondering if Strade would be angry as she listened to him ramble on, animatedly. More than likely not, since she had a feeling he was telling the story this way simply because he was such a naturally cheerful, upbeat guy. Therefore, he probably saw all the horrible, mostly illegal shit he did in an overly positive light. It was almost sweet to hear him oversimplifying the notably violent encounter at the rest stop to a worrying degree.

“We were having a little chat with a friendly old-timer at the gas station, but he had to cut it short because he was starting to get a headache. The poor guy, maybe the heat was getting to him! Come to think of it, I should invite him over for a _barbecue_ some time. Nice fella!”

_Very funny, Strade. Tell me another one, why don’t you?_

XII. Fan Mail

Later on, after Strade and Y/N had showered, he even let her have that sorely-needed bubble bath she had been craving. Provided he could sit on the toilet seat lid with a beer and stare at her while she tried to relax in the hot, sudsy water. He attempted to make her even more uncomfortable by making awkward small-talk and asking her inane questions about the various bath products she liked to use, but then he remembered that one unread DM and went to grab his laptop, giving her a brief moment’s peace.

Balancing it precariously on his knees, he flipped it open, swirling the liquid remnants around in his mostly empty bottle as he waited for the server to load. The username next to the new message in his inbox was one he was familiar with, as they interacted frequently in the chat, often addressing him directly. Based on their comments, he had assumed they were perhaps way too young to be able to pay the minimum donation amount required for subscribing without stealing a parent’s credit card, but the unsolicited selfie that greeted him when he clicked on the envelope icon clearly suggested otherwise.

The photo of XhentaixluvrX featured a girl about Ren’s age with light brown hair done up in pigtail braids and a bunny ear filter, flashing a peace sign at the camera…as well as her tits. Her smile was dopey, but cute enough, and he figured it could be improved further with his cock buried balls-deep in her mouth. He licked his lip as he scrolled down to the actual message, picturing it in his head. Or maybe…he thought, a _knife_ would fit her throat better, instead.

_“Hiii!!! I’ve been watching your stuff for a long time and I’m a huge fan!! I think you’re really cute…Wanna meet up sometime? I love a man who’s good with his hands ;)”_

There was a phone number below, and with a quick web search he found that the area code was only from several towns over. He finished his beer and tossed the bottle into the bathroom wastebasket. The loud clatter as it hit the bottom startled Y/N and she sat up in the tub with a small squeak of surprise, which made him giggle and reach down to pet her hair while keeping his eyes on the screen. She smiled up at him, slumping against the back of the tub while he gently stroked her head like a sleepy house cat. 

“Whatcha doin’, Strade…?”, she asked him innocently, as she let her eyelids droop.

“Research.”

He used XhentaixluvrX’s username to track down a list of relevant social media handles with almost no effort, and he grinned triumphantly when he found a match after only a cursory glance.

“What kind of research…?”, Y/N continued, not terribly curious but merely wanting to express interest in his…hobbies. To show she cared. Sometimes, on the rare days that Strade wasn’t really feeling the whole torture thing, he liked to watch her draw or paint or even let her pick out a movie that didn’t involve one of the characters being dismembered in lovingly close-up detail and watch that with very little griping. So the least she could do was ask what he was up to that could be putting that big, goofy smile on his face.

“Ah… it’s work-related. Nothing special, really.”, he replied distractedly while he skimmed the page.

“Oh, ok. Just wondering. Um…could you please…keep playing with my hair? I kinda…like it…”

“Sure, _liebling.”_

The girl’s name was Sara, a student that commuted to the local community college with a major in biology. A deeper dive revealed a link to what appeared to be a porn site where she made money as a camgirl in her spare time. After a moment’s thought, he added it to his bookmarks for…later reference, then clicked on the link in her profile that led to her personal blog, a diary of sorts.After reading a few of her more recent posts, he discovered the most important tidbit of information about his new friend, Sara.

She lived all alone. _Perfect._

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and added her cell number to his address book, then turned to help Y/N out of the bath, personally drying her off with a fresh, fluffy towel. She leaned into him, savoring the attention as much as she could. Why was he being so nice all of a sudden?

Meanwhile, Strade was imagining how fun it would be if he brought home a nice, little rabbit to be his kitten’s new playmate…if only for one night.

That evening, all three of them were lounging on the couch watching TV. Strade reclined in one corner with his feet up while Ren rested against his shoulder and Y/N lay across both of their legs with her head in Strade’s lap. He was pretty sure they were both falling asleep, and he could feel his own eyelids growing heavy under the weight of the busy day they had. He was about to shove them both onto the floor and call it an early night, but then he saw his flip-phone on the side table and leaned over to grab it. After a moment’s thought, he decided to send his not so secret admirer a text.

Strade: “Hallo, Sara :)”

Only about a minute or so went by before he got a response.

Sara: “Umm hi?? Who is this?”

Strade: “Your new friend!”

Sara: “??? How did you get this #?”

Strade: “You gave it to me, of course. Remember?”

Sara: “…”

Sara: “OMG!!!11 Are you really B3G_CRY?!? O.o”

Strade: “That’s right.”

Sara: “Wow senpai finally noticed meeee!!! XD

Sara: “I did NOT expect you to txt me!”

Sara: “Literally SCREAMING rn I’m like such a big fan!” <3 <3 <3

Strade: “I can tell, _schatzi.”_

Sara: “But how did you know my name?”

Strade: “I have my ways.”

Strade: “I may have to take you up on your offer to meet in person. You look like a nice girl.”

Sara: “No way rly? I take it you liked the pic I sent you lol”

Strade: “ _Ja,_ I did.”

Strade: “Those bunny ears made me laugh. Haha very cute! :D”

Sara: “Oh sure the ears ya right lmaooo”

Sara: “Well I’m obvs down if you wanna hook up ^_^”

Strade: “I’d like that.”

Sara: “So…like where do you live? I can cum to you if ya want ;)

Strade: “I’d rather not share any personal info over the phone, but I’m free Sat. night if you’re not too busy.”

Sara: “Sure babe! My place or yours?”

Strade: “Let’s say mine.”

Strade: “But don’t worry.”

Strade: “I’ll come pick you up :) :) :)”

Sara: “???”

Sara: “Um ok? But like you don’t even know where I live either tho”

Strade: “Not true, _meine freundin._ You gave me your address as well.”

Strade: “Are you always this forgetful? hahaha”

Sara: “Lololol ya sorry I’m a total ditz sumtimes I guess!”

Strade: “That’s OK! I’m looking forward to having some fun with you, _kleines haschen.”_

Strade: “Wear something pretty for me, _ja?”_

Sara: “Ooh you mean like nothing? lol jkjk”

Sara: “What time you coming over?”

Strade: “Hmm nothing is good. Less work for me.”

Strade: “I’ll be by when it gets dark. Just keep an eye out.”

Sara: “Oh ok! OMG yayyy I can’t wait to see you!”

Sara: “…”

Sara: “Is it weird to say I’m super wet rn just thinking about it???”

Strade: “Not at all, _liebe_.”

Strade: “You should touch yourself and pretend it’s me.”

Sara: “Mmm that’s so hott! Wish you were here already so I could ride that huge cock <3”

Strade almost laughed out loud at her egregious, albeit adorable display of naivety, but just smirked and shook his head so as not to disturb his pets just yet. This poor little girl had no idea what she was getting herself into. Still, he couldn’t resist playing along by flirting some more, leading her on with no shame.

Strade: “Oh I’d love to be fucking you right now, _Schätzchen.”_

Strade: “Make you say my name.”

Sara: “Fuck yeah I would if I knew it lol”

Sara: “…”

Sara: “You got a webcam? I could give you a private show ^.~”

Strade: “I would much rather wait until our date <3”

Strade: “Wanna be able to get my hands on ya.”

Strade: “…”

Strade: “And you will learn my name in due time…because you will be screaming it all night long.”

Strade: “Sound like a plan?”

Sara: “YESSS Ugh I want you so fuckin bad”

Sara: “OMG I got like so horny watching you with that girl today”

Sara: “Wait”

Sara: “She’s not your gf is she?”

Strade: “She’s my assistant. With benefits haha”

Sara: “OK cool!”

Sara: “I don’t like to share!”

Strade: “Neither do I :)”

Strade: “Anyway, I’m off to bed. Our little chat has gotten me quite…excited.”

Strade: “Now my assistant needs to help me take care of it.”

Strade: “All your fault, naughty _hase.”_

Sara: “Lol sorry not sorry! Why don’t ya punish me?”

Strade: “Oh, of course! You can bet on that.”

Strade: “ _Guten nacht,_ Sara. It was lovely talking with you <3”

Sara: “Same here!”

Sara: “Night handsome! Sweet dreamzzz! ^_^”

Strade snapped his phone shut and roughly pushed Ren off of him, dropping the recliner to dump Y/N onto the floor while snickering at their groggy complaints. He grasped her by the wrist and dragged her down the hallway to his bedroom, leaving Ren in a confused heap of fur and fluff on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

“Come with me, _Kätzchen_ …I got one last important job for ya to do.”

“But, Strade…I’m too sleepy…”, she whined, covering a big yawn with the back of her hand.

“Fine, whatever… _”,_ he growled under his breath as he threw her into the pitch dark room and stepped inside, slowly shutting and locking the door behind him with an ominous click.

“ _Ich nehme an, Sie müssen dafür nicht bei Bewusstsein sein.”_

XIII. Preparations

By the time the weekend rolled around, Strade was chomping at the bit to finally meet his cute, little (extremely gullible) fangirl. He made sure to ply her with innocent texts throughout the week, mostly “good mornings”, “good nights”, or “how was your days”…all of which she ate up like candy from a tempting stranger. Sara sent a few more suggestive selfies his way, most of which were accompanied by what Strade could only assume were very drunk, very _horny_ ramblings. Each time she begged to at least see his face as well, that the curiosity and need to finally know what her long-time internet crush looked like was literally _killing_ her, but he would only coyly reply that he wanted to wait. Wanted it to be a surprise and keep her in suspense, that kind of thing.

That afternoon, he went out to the supermarket to pick up some groceries since Ren’s leftover pizza supply was almost out. While he was there, he took out his phone and leaned on the handle of the shopping carriage while he sent Sara a text that caught her a little off guard.

Strade: “Hey there, Sara! I’m making supper later and was wondering if there was anything you would prefer not to eat?”

Sara: “…?”

Sara: “I’m not picky!”

Sara: “But I’m allergic to eggs so yea. Those I guess?”

Strade: “Oh! _Danke.”_

Strade: “I’ll be sure to avoid them :)”

Sara: “Aw thanksss! You’re so sweet <3”

Strade: “Haha. Well I try.”

Strade: “See you tonight, _liebste ;)”_

Sara: “^.~”

With a self-satisfied smirk, Strade stuffed his phone back into his pocket along with his crumpled shopping list. Before steering his cartful of food towards the check-out line, he grabbed a carton off the shelf in the dairy aisle and carefully placed it on top of a stack of frozen dinners so that the contents wouldn’t crack or break open. He smiled brightly at the cashier as he started to load up the conveyor belt. 

It looked as though he and his date would be having some breakfast for dinner.

XIV. Ren

“Shit! You really _have_ been practicing, huh?”, Y/N remarked, dropping her controller into her lap after losing yet another match in their favorite fighting game to Ren.

“Well, yeah. _Duh._ What else did I have to do while you guys were gone, but get good?”, he replied. A smug smile showed off the tips of his sharp fangs.

“Fair point.”

Y/N shrugged in defeat, but smiled back warmly, nonetheless. She was relieved that they were getting along a bit better after several days of the cold shoulder, though she still wasn’t exactly sure of the reason why Ren had been avoiding her in the first place. Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, she decided to just be honest with him.

“Hey, Ren…”

“Yeah?”

He looked up at her from across the small bedroom, sensing her hesitation with what she was about to say.

“Are we…cool? Like, is there something bothering you?”

Ren answered quickly, spinning slightly away from her in his gaming chair.

“Uh, no…Why?”

“There is. C’mon, you barely said a word to me for three days. You can talk to me, you know.”, she kindly assured him, though remained seated on her rather unused bed. It was best to be careful and keep her distance when dealing with a potentially upset fox. He was likely to lash out with claws and teeth without really meaning to, and for being somewhat smaller and shorter than her, was also remarkably strong. And _fast._

Ren hugged his elbows, rubbing them like he just got a chill. 

“OK, I guess…on top of being jealous that he took _you_ on vacation and not me, it’s just that…when you came back, you were…I don’t know. _Different.”_

She raised an eyebrow. What was he getting at?

“Well, first off, you weren’t missing out on much. Wasn’t much of a vacation at all. That motel was a dump, haha!”, she laughed, resolving to spare Ren the gritty details of their rather eventful road trip. 

“Second…different, how so?”

“How do I put this…”, Ren began, taking a deep breath. 

“When I saw you with that…that _guy_ in the basement…there was something in your eyes…”

He looked down at his knees, squeezing his elbows harder and squinting his eyes as he struggled to find his voice.

“It was like I was looking at…at…”

“At Strade?”, she finished his thought, her tone flat and impassive. She knew exactly what he was thinking…and she didn’t exactly blame him. 

Ren lifted his head for a second, eyes wide, before bowing it again, lower this time in embarrassment. As if he had been caught doing something wrong.

“Uh-huh. At first, I was afraid I was going to lose you because he…he wouldn’t be able to control himself one day, and just…well, y’know…but it sorta feels like…”

Y/N watched him, observing his long nails picking at a faded sticker on his controller as he searched for the right words.

“…like there’s _two_ of you, now.”

Taken aback, she thought about asking him if he meant two of _her,_ or two of _Strade,_ but she supposed it was, truthfully, a bit of both. Instead, she blew a puff of air out the side of her mouth, in denial of what she knew was right. 

“ _Pft._ Please. That’s crazy! I’m just doing what he wants me to so I don’t end up tied to that chair myself, someday. I mean, you’d do the sa-“

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

Ren had cut her off mid-sentence, his orange eyes beginning to glow intensely in contrast to his simple, calmly delivered assertion.

“You hurt people because you know he likes it when you do…because you…l-love him…and you want him to love you back. Or am I wrong?”

Now it was her turn to look away in shame. She felt like crying, but there were no tears to shed.

“…No. You’re not.”

He continued on, his tone taking on the tiniest bit of a mean edge as he spoke. It was as if he took pleasure in prying these uncomfortable, unspoken truths between them out of her by force. He was more like Strade than he cared to admit, and would never do so in front of her.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this but…he doesn’t. You could kill a hundred people for him…and he still wouldn’t. I don’t think he even knows how. Not in like…a _normal_ way, anyway.”

His sense of _schadenfreude_ was quickly replaced with alarm and regret when he saw her face crumple, her lip quivering as if she was on the verge of tears.

“Y/N, sorry I-“

“No, it’s fine. I know. I really do…”, she sniffled, wiping her eyes only to find the back of her hand still dry. 

“…but I guess I just don’t care. In all honesty, loving him alone is enough.”

She sat up straight, staring off into space with a far away look of longing in her eyes. A warm feeling covered the sadness in her heart. The trauma and pain.

“Being with him, sleeping next to him…even…being hurt by him. _Suffering_ for him. It’s enough for me…OK?”

Their eyes met for a solid few, awkward seconds before Ren got up to give her a hug. In some ways, he could understand her feelings…however convoluted they seemed. Strade was a lot of things to them both. He tormented them, controlled them, and even took care of them in equal measure…and when it came down to it, Ren wasn’t even sure if he wanted to think about where they would be without him around.

He hugged Y/N tighter before letting go and holding her hands in his. 

“Yeah. I think I get it now.”

She managed a small smile as his soft, fluffy fox tail curled around her shoulders like a security blanket.

“One thing though…can I have this version of Y/N for myself? Leave that other one down in the basement for Strade.”

Needing to distract himself from his encroaching anxiety, he impulsively hit the start button on her controller and the bombastic opening title music of the game shattered the heavy silence before she could respond.

“So, how ‘bout another round?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> schatzi - sweetheart
> 
> meine freundin - my (girl)friend
> 
> kleines haschen - little bunny
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> Schätzchen - baby
> 
> hase - rabbit
> 
> Guten nacht - Good night
> 
> Kätzchen - Kitten
> 
> Ich nehme an, Sie müssen dafür nicht bei Bewusstsein sein. - I suppose you don't need to be conscious for this.
> 
> Danke. - Thank you.
> 
> liebste - favorite


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strade finally meets his crazy fangirl face to face. 
> 
> Obviously, everything does not go as planned for at least ONE of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No *real* porn (yet!) in this chapter, but if you're a fan of Strade being a condescending, domineering asshole...oh boy, are you in luck!

XV. Date Night

While Ren and Y/N bustled about the kitchen putting away the groceries, Strade stood leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching them with amusement and just being generally unhelpful. Ren opened the refrigerator and turned to pick up a bunch of stuff from the bag on the counter, only to have Strade kick it shut again with the toe of his boot.

“I’ll be taking _those!”,_ he said, stepping forward to pluck the carton of eggs out of Ren’s overstuffed arms and forcing him to juggle the rest while trying to reopen the fridge with his elbow. Y/N closed the pantry cabinet and hurried over to save him from dropping everything, then saw Strade holding the eggs and cautiously sidled up to him.

“Are you hungry, Strade? Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you an omelet!”, she offered, patting the seat of his chair with an eager-to-please smile that made Ren roll his eyes.

“No, no! I’m just bringing these down to the basement fridge, and then I’ll be going out for awhile.” 

The way he said this made it sound like it should have been obvious that an ordinary carton of eggs belonged in the same fridge that contained little else besides beer and semi-fresh human organs. Seeing her disappointment, he added, “But _danke, liebling.”_ He touched her face briefly before turning away and heading downstairs, leaving her confused and Ren annoyed that she had stopped helping him.

Before he left for the night, Strade checked himself in the hall mirror, running his fingers through his questionably clean hair and examining his teeth to make sure there wasn’t anything stuck in between them. He straightened his shirt and felt his pockets for his keys, phone, wallet…and knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Y/N standing shyly nearby and he chuckled softly to himself, pretending he hadn’t seen her yet.

“Wow…you look like you’re ready for a hot date…”, she joked, doing a poor job of hiding how curious she was about his plans by complimenting him. 

“You’re not far off!”, he agreed, holding out his hand. She went to him, thinking he was going to put his arm around her but as soon as she got close enough he pushed her up against the mirror by her shoulder. His other hand cupped her chin, tilting her head back against the glass to meet his looming gaze.

“Be a good girl and wait up for me tonight, _ja?_ I shouldn’t be too late.”

Y/N searched his eyes for the answer she was afraid to ask for. Judging by his wide, sinister grin, he was now in full hunter mode.

_Probably going to the bar,_ she guessed, wincing at the tightening grip on her shoulder as he waited for her to agree…Although, wasn’t it a bit early for that? It was barely after nightfall.

“…Another one? So soon?”, she inquired innocently enough, but then flinched when his smile faltered the tiniest bit.

“Mmm…May-be~…”

The hand on her chin slid down to her throat and he bent down close to her face, pressing her so far back against the mirror that it was knocked slightly askew on the wall. Y/N met his threatening stare head-on, starting to blush as his warm breath fanned her lips.

“…but you’re a nosy little thing, aren’t ya? Careful, now…as they always say, _curiosity_ killed _die Kätzchen._ BAHahaha!!!”, he slapped his palm on the glass by her head, throwing a nasty laugh in her face. The way he was lightly choking her was almost frighteningly casual.

Finally he released her neck, gazing down at her fondly as she coughed and shook beneath him.

“I-I didn’t mean to be…S-sorry, Strade.” she apologized meekly, bowing her head in submission.

Ignoring her excuse, he cut her off as soon as his name left her mouth.

“Oh, and don’t bother wearing anything to bed tonight. I want you ready to, ah… _play…_ when I come home.”

“Yes, Strade…” Y/N nodded compliantly while he stole one last glance at his reflection from over her head, then playfully flicked the bell on her collar before turning on his heel and walking out the front door. As soon as she heard the doorjamb click into place, she breathed out a heady sigh as she sank to her trembling knees, gingerly touching the tender imprints his fingers had left on her throat. 

She found herself missing him already.

XVI. The Apartment

Being somewhat familiar with the area already, Strade was able to locate the apartment building that Sara lived in without relying on the use of GPS. There happened to be a pretty decent sports bar around the block that he had been to several times due to its reputation as a popular spot for drunk college students who were willing to accept a ride home from just about any friendly face. He opted to park in the alleyway behind the bar and enjoy the short walk over since the late-summer night air was pleasantly brisk and the moon was bright.

Jamming his hands deep into his pockets, he fingered his pocket knife, smiling at the rowdy passersby on the sidewalk as he made his way toward his designated target. He felt his excitement build as he pictured the look on her adorably vapid face when he darkened her doorway. As much as he was certain she would just leave with him willingly, he didn’t think he would mind having to introduce that very face to the wall of her apartment a couple of times first, if need be. He was willing to bet that she would look even cuter with a nice, bloody nose.

After he got inside the main entrance, he scanned the rows of buzzers for the apartment number on the post-it note in his hand. Just when he was about to press it, he perked up at the sound of the inner door swinging open. An elderly woman was just leaving, and he quickly moved to politely hold the door for her like a gentleman while she fumbled in her oversized purse for her car keys.

“Why thank you, young man! Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before…Just move in?”

Strade instantly turned on the charm like he was flipping a light switch, flashing his teeth in a charismatic grin as he sidestepped over the threshold and leaned his arm on the door.

_“Ja,_ last week, in fact. Nice neighborhood! Very… _lively.”_

The woman found her keys, her shaky, arthritic hands causing them to rattle noisily in her grasp.

“Oh, welcome! It ain’t that nice, if you ask me. Darn kids around here ruin all the peace and quiet with their loud stereos, running around at all hours of the night!”

Shifting his weight restlessly against the door, Strade waved his hand in a “gee whiz” gesture.

“Aw, I wouldn’t be too hard on them. They’re just looking for a good time, that’s all. Y’know…to enjoy life while it _lasts!”_

“Well, that’s an odd way to put it, but I suppose you’re right. Anyway, good talking to you, Mr…?”, she tilted her head, unable to remember if he had given his name before or not.

“Ren.”

“Right. Mr. Ren, you have a good night now. Be seeing you around!”

“You as well, ma’am.”

As soon as the old woman went shuffling off into the parking lot at a snail’s pace, Strade let the door slam behind him, thinking how lucky it was now that he would be able to truly take Sara by surprise. He had a makeshift lock-pick on his pocket knife and could likely just let himself into her apartment that way. He thumped up the stairs to the third floor and strolled down the hallway to her door, smelling a potpourri of stale cigarette smoke and sweaty socks coming from the numerous pairs of shoes left out on the residents’ doormats. This was not the classiest of places, for sure. Certainly nobody would think anything out of the ordinary was going on should he need to get a bit…rough with his date if she wasn’t cooperating. Just another domestic scuffle, they would probably assume…or a drug deal gone south.

Towards the end of the shoddily-carpeted hall, he spied her door before he even checked to make sure it was the correct apartment number. The welcome mat was bright pink, reading _“Yay! You’re Here!”_ in a swirly script font, accompanied by a pair of turquoise flip-flops sitting to its right. Flip-flops he recognized from a recent beach photo that he saw on Sara’s personal blog, and sure enough, there was still a little dusting of sand clinging to them. While not his usual method of acquiring new victims to torture, cyberstalking was certainly nothing new to Strade.

He tried the knob even though he fully expected to employ the lock-pick, but instead it turned effortlessly in his grip, much to his delight. He ran his tongue over his top row of teeth, already a little turned on despite not even having properly met this girl. She was practically _begging_ for him to abduct her at knife-point, welcoming him in like that. The mat under his feet was uncannily appropriate.

Pausing for a beat or two, he pressed his ear to the door, listening for signs of any movement inside. A mischievous smile curved across his face when he was met with the faint, tell-tale rush of running water. She must be in the shower. He would have been slightly irritated that she wasn’t ready to go out yet, but then remembered he never did give her an exact timeframe.

Quietly pushing open the door and stepping carefully inside, he surveyed the tiny living room, poking around and looking at the photos in cheap frames haphazardly lining the walls. He peeked his head into her bedroom, recognizing the J-Rock band poster above her bed as the one in the background of all the selfies she had been sending him. Strade thought he recalled that Ren said something once about liking this band too, but he quickly lost interest in favor of creeping up to the bathroom door. This one was actually locked which was probably for the best, since his self-control was already beginning to flag. He really didn’t want to end the fun prematurely because Sara ended up “accidentally” drowning in her own bathtub.

Instead, he decided to wait as patiently as he could on her couch, kicking up his feet on the coffee table and carelessly knocking over one of the empty wine cooler bottles that littered its surface. So, she had been pre-gaming. How much easier could this prey _get?_

At this point, Strade wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she came out completely naked and offered to climb right into the trunk of his car all of her own volition. He giggled at the thought and helped himself to the crumbly remains of an open bag of chips left on the table, wiping the dust from his fingers on the cushions while he flipped through a notebook he found next to him that she presumably used for school. He squinted, trying to read what she wrote to no avail. Sara’s handwriting was as atrocious as her judge of character, it seemed.

A few minutes later he heard the loud thunk of the faucet shutting off, and he looked towards the bathroom door, eager for their long-awaited introduction. Sara stepped out in a thick cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping and skin slightly pink from the hot water. She stopped for a second as she faced her bedroom, sensing there was something amiss.

“…Ready, Sara?”

She jumped a mile high, damp hair flying as she whipped around to find the source of that thickly-accented, impossibly self-satisfied voice. As soon as her green eyes caught sight of the shaggy-haired, tan-skinned stranger whose powerful-looking arms were draped over the top of her couch and smiling up at her like he owned the place, she screamed and nearly dropped her towel on the floor. Strade took swift action, leaping to his feet and clamping one hand over her mouth while his other roughly pinned both of hers behind her with ease. He twisted her body so that her back was against his chest, having no trouble keeping her still. Whimpering into his hand, her breath came hard and fast as he squeezed her wrists with enough pressure to make her squirm. 

_“Shhh_ …it’s only me!~ I’m not gonna hurt you…”, he whispered soothingly next to her ear, inhaling the fresh, fruity scent of her shampoo. He could tell that it was slowly dawning on her who he actually was because she began to relax, her respiration evening out as he allowed his hold on her wrists to loosen.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth in a second, but if you scream one more time…we’re gonna have a real _problem,_ understand?”

She nodded her head and he let her go, letting her turn around to face him.

“You…”, she started to say as she looked him up and down, a small, appreciative smile gradually replacing her previously terrified expression.

“Oh…! You’re, like, _really_ hot. But I didn’t think you’d be this…um, _short.”_

Sara stifled a giggle behind her hand, adjusting her towel while Strade chuckled along with her, good-naturedly.

“Hahh…I don’t have to be tall to tear you in half, _haschen.”_

The obvious threat was laced with such cloying sweetness that she barely registered it as such, unable to stop staring at him in awe even when he impatiently shoved her towards her room to finish getting dressed.

“Now, _c’mon._ Get your things so we can go.”

She shot him a coy look over her shoulder and he followed her, watching from the doorway as she teasingly lowered her towel with her back to him.

“Why don’t we just hang out here?”, she suggested. “If you sleep over, I’ll give you my special b&b&b treatment in the morning…”

“Eh? What’s that?”, he asked, not really caring but humoring her anyway so that maybe she would hurry the fuck up.

“Breakfast and blowjob in bed!”, she declared with a wink as she hooked her bra closed behind her back.

Strade shook his head, feeling his already minimal patience wearing thin.

“It’s a tempting offer, but _nein.”,_ he replied firmly, resisting the urge to grab the hair-dryer off her dresser and beat her over the head with it.

“Aww…why nooot?”, she whined, looking up at him all pouty while she stepped into a baby-blue, pleated miniskirt. He picked his teeth with his fingernail, flicking the potato chip residue he dug out onto her white rug.

“Because, _kleine_ _hase,_ I wanna play with you…but all my favorite toys are at home.”, he growled, wondering if he would even be able to wait before making her choke on his cock down her throat. At least _that_ might stop her _verdammt_ complaining.

Sara’s face lit up as she righted herself, quirking an eyebrow as she reached for the matching top lying at the foot of her bed.

“Hehe! Wow, you’re so kinky!”

Strade chuckled at that, despite himself. She would soon be finding out how much of a gross understatement that really was.

“Ahaha…Well, I mean, consider what I do for a living! Pain and blood are my bread and butter…”

She smiled at his reflection in her mirror while she combed out her hair and applied her makeup. 

“Ooh, yeah…? You gonna tie me up and poke me with that big… _hard…_ knife of yours while everybody watches?”, she teased, batting her fake eyelashes at him, flirtatiously.

“ _Scheiße…”,_ Strade muttered under his breath. He liked that one a little _too_ much and wondered vaguely if she would notice that it was starting to show.

_“Ah_ …hmm…why don’t we just see how things go, alright?” He tugged at his collar, dangerously close to breaking a sweat even as he tried to keep his cool.

“…Pleasure before business, _liebe.”_

XVII. The Ride Home

“Ugh…you parked so far away! You could have used one of the guest spots, y’know…”, Sara pointed out as Strade led her down the alley behind the bar where his car was parked, making sure she stayed nice and close by keeping her anchored to his side with a firm hand on her back. She regretted wearing those new platform sandals she bought for the occasion, and not just because they made her almost taller than her date.

“It’s good exercise!”, he replied, pulling out his keys to unlock the doors. The alley wasn’t especially well-lit but that didn’t stop her from squealing excitedly upon seeing Strade’s luxury ride. It stuck out like a sore thumb next to the dingy brick wall and grimy, rust-laden dumpsters.

“Oh, my God! _That’s_ your car?!”, she exclaimed, trying to peer through the window at the interior without touching the glass. He gently pulled her away from the passenger-side door, opening it and gesturing for her to get inside with an inviting flourish of his hand and a slight bow. Instead she moved closer to him, brazenly leaning over the top of the door to slowly run a manicured finger down the row of buttons on his shirt. If she had only glanced down for even a second, she would have noticed there was something very wrong with the inside of this door.

“…You must be _sugar-daddy_ rich, huh?…”

Strade closed his own fingers around her errant hand, squeezing a little too tight and smiling a little too wide. Sara didn’t know it yet, having never seen it before due to his typical use of a mask, but this was pretty damn close to the same blood-thirsty grin he wore when he knew he had sealed the deal on some fresh meat. And this one was _willing,_ to boot. He shrugged, fiddling with his keys in his other hand behind his back. He could feel that a few of them were quite sharp.

“Eh. I get by, _haschen…_ Now, shall we be on our way?”

As soon as she was in the seat with both feet inside, he banged the door shut without another word and circled around the front to climb in behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition, scanning through the stations on the radio while he waited for the inevitable “Where’s the handle?”, he had gotten so used to hearing from any unlucky soul he happened to pick up. Sure enough, the roof light illuminated the area in question just enough to rouse Sara’s (somewhat delayed) suspicion. It was in that exact moment that it hit her like a punch in the stomach, her breath catching in her throat.

Perhaps she had just made a _big_ mistake.

“Haha…Wh-What’s up with this door…? How am I supposed to g-get out?”

Her already high voice rose in pitch along with her distress level, and she giggled nervously as she scrambled to take off her seatbelt. Deep down she knew there was no escape…and she had nobody but herself to blame. 

… _Stupid, stupid, STUPID!!!_

Strade observed her increasing panic with calm detachment, leaning one elbow on the steering wheel with his hand on his chin, a one-sided little smirk on his smug face. This was really starting to get fun.

“Please…Please, let me out! I’m _scaaared!!!”,_ Sara wailed, beating her fists on the thick glass of her window. Strade reached over to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, though his tone was anything but.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, buddy.”

She paid him no mind, continuing to shout and thrash around, but before she could strike the window one more time the grip on her shoulder turned into a vise. He launched her forward in her seat, bashing her head into the dashboard once…twice…three times. Without the seatbelt to hold her up, she crumpled halfway to the floor in a semi-conscious daze, dizzy and groaning from the splitting ache in her forehead.

“Do me a favor and keep your mouth shut while I’m driving, _du kleine Göre._ I’m kind enough to let you sit with me in the front seat, and _this_ is how you act?”

He shook his head at her, clicking his tongue in disapproval and lifted her limp head up by her hair to glare into her unfocused eyes.

“If you’re gonna misbehave, I’ll shove you in the trunk. Might even leave you there all night. Is that what you want?”

“Uhh…don’t hurt meee…senpai…”, she whimpered, trying to drag herself back to a sitting position with limited success. Strade narrowed his eyes and yanked even harder on her hair, making her squeak in protest.

“I don’t understand why you keep calling me some kind of… _pie,_ but it’s starting to get on my nerves…so I’ll just tell you my name!”

He leaned down close enough for the ends of his wavy hair to brush against her upturned face.

“It’s Strade. Can you say that for me…?~”, he enunciated slowly and clearly, as if addressing a toddler who had sort of missed the boat on the whole learning to talk thing.

“Str-Straaaade…”, she repeated obediently, her weak voice barely louder than a whisper. A small trickle of blood ran down from the gash below her hairline, clashing horribly with her lipstick.

Satisfied for the time being, he threw her head down again, letting her collapse back onto the floor with a sinister chuckle.

“Ah, see? Now you’re learning!”

———

After pulling into the garage and killing the engine Strade looked over at Sara who was curled up on the floor with her head resting on the passenger seat, twitching and drooling in a restless, sleep-like state. He slapped her face lightly a few times to get her attention, but it was only after he used more force with the back of his hand that her eyelids fluttered partially open.

“Hey, Sara…we’re home. Think ya can walk? If you’re dizzy, I’ll carry you. I don’t mind!~”, he offered sweetly, digging his hands under her arms to scoop her up off the floor.

“Yes, p-please…sir…”

She sounded a lot like a child who had just gotten called on by the teacher to read aloud in class without knowing what page number to turn to. Strade dragged her over the front seat and slung her listless form over his shoulder with ease. The fact that her head now hung upside down against his back only served to make her feel even more lightheaded, and her vision faded in and out as she caught glimpses of the dimly-lit living room and first-floor hallway.

“No need to be so formal, buddy! Though I do appreciate how…polite you are. I think you and Y/N will get along great!”

Even in her head trauma-induced haze, Sara was visibly perturbed at the mention of some other woman’s name.

“Who is she?”

The other woman in question was sitting up in bed with the sheets pulled up high to cover herself, but otherwise wearing almost nothing save for her shock collar, as per Strade’s request. Her nose was buried in a paperback manga volume that she had borrowed from Ren. The anticipation of what Strade had in mind for “playtime” after coming back from the bar or wherever had been so great that she needed a little distraction. She knew he would be in a violent mood and she was still feeling the effects on her small body from one of their last sessions, which she couldn’t remember much of to be perfectly honest.

Her eyes widened as she looked up from her book, dropping it in her lap to instinctively draw the covers up even higher when Strade kicked open the bedroom door. As expected, he was not alone…but what was she doing in _here?_

_“_ Oh, good! You’re still awake.”, he commented, tossing the disoriented young woman on the bed next to her. She was bleeding steadily from her forehead and seemingly dressed like a character from one of Ren’s creepy Lolita anime shows.

_“_ Strade? Who is that?”, she asked him carefully, inching away from them on the bed.

He unbuckled his belt and whipped it out of the belt loops with one swift motion, pulling it taut with a loud, threatening snap.

“Oh…just a fan of mine~…”, he lilted in a sing-song way, his eyes rolling in her direction with keen interest. He was well aware of just how uncomfortable this situation was making her…and he was _loving_ it.

“Hmm…are you jealous, _liebling?_ You’re looking a little…pouty.”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, stammering as she refused to meet his prying gaze. 

“N-no! I’m not…jealous. So…that’s what you went out for?”

Strade bared his teeth in some unsettling semblance of a grin, looping his belt around Sara’s neck like a leash and pulling tight for a snug fit. She reacted by mumbling something incoherent and letting her head fall to the side to stare blankly up at Y/N.

_“Ja,_ I thought you might enjoy having _ein_ _neuer freundin_ to play with!…For as long as I decide to keep her, that is. Ahahaha….”

Y/N could do nothing but nod silently. She had suspected something strange was going on every time she caught Strade futzing about on his phone, smiling and giggling at the tiny screen like a lunatic. An insidious green mist of envy crept into her mind, and she cast her eyes down at the manga in her lap, trying desperately not to give away her true feelings. If Strade figured them out, he might do something unbearably cruel. She could just picture him tying her up in the corner, forcing her to watch while he did everything under the sun to this mystery girl and then not touching her even once except maybe to shoot his hot, sticky load all over her while cackling like a hyena.

“You brought her in here, though…Not downstairs?”

Preoccupied by forcefully slicing off Sara’s minimal clothing with his pocket knife, he didn’t answer right away. The blade nicked a rib as he cut through her crop-top, and he made a low humming sound in his throat at the bead of blood that appeared on her skin. 

_“…mmm…_ Hm? Oh! Nah, not yet. I wanna have some fun with _both_ of you at the same time, first…”

Strade climbed over Sara’s prone, half-naked figure, the end of his belt still wrapped around his fist tugging her head off the pillow along with him.

“Put on a happy face, _mein Kätzchen!”,_ he demanded cheerily, straddling Y/N’s legs and reaching down with his free hand to hook a finger into her collar. He roughly hauled her toward him and the sheets fell, pooling around her waist and exposing her breasts. His hand trailed up to her mouth to prod at the corner of her lips, forcing her to comply whether she wanted to or not.

“Let’s give Sara, here…a _warm_ welcome…”

XVIII. Obedience Training

“Listen to me, _haustier…”,_ Strade addressed the sobbing, shaking girl at his feet as he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his boot. He sat on the edge of the bed, surveying his domain and leisurely smoking an imported Cuban cigar. His glimmering, amber eyes regarded the two submissive, kneeling women with blithe amusement, reveling in the fact that he had effectively stripped them of more than just their clothes. How docile and fearful they were, yet at the same time so _eager_ for him to use them as he saw fit.

He caught Y/N side-eyeing Sara several times when she thought he wasn’t looking and it was clear she wasn’t too thrilled about sharing the man whose bed she had been sleeping in for almost four months with some fawning groupie he had met in a glorified chatroom. Strade resolved to ignore that…for now. 

“…Do as you’re told, and I'll _try_ not to hurt you too badly…” The keyword here was “try”, and he emphasized this accordingly in italics they could both hear.

“Ignore any commands or mouth off to me… _well_ then…”, his voice trailed off as he reached down to turn Y/N’s face back to look at him. Her disgusted glower instantly melted into a dreamy look of reverence as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“Y/N already knows the rules…don’t you, _Kätzchen?”_

The bell on her collar jingled softly with her enthusiastic nod.

“Mmhm…Yes, Strade! You’re the boss, and what you say goes…”

Now she was just showing off in front of the newcomer, sucking up to Strade to assert her position on the food chain. This intruder wasn’t going to steal his attention, his affection away from her if she could help it. He withdrew his hand, causing her to unconsciously lean forward, seeking more of his touch.

“Good. Then I suppose I can forgive you for disobeying me just this once, _ja?”_

He took a puff of his cigar, exhaling the acrid smoke in her face as her eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“Disobey…? I’m sorry, Strade, but I don’t remem-“

“Oh, come now, _liebling…_ Don’t tell me you already forgot what I told you before I left!”, he chided her, drooping his shoulders with a faux-disappointed sigh. She blushed, looking down at her plain cotton underwear, then back up at him with an apologetic smile.

“Oh…I, um…it’s that time…you know…”, she murmured quietly, twirling a lock of hair around her finger in embarrassment. Strade’s lips curled back in a lecherous grin, his cigar clenched between his teeth at a slight, jaunty angle.

_“Ahhh…_ hahahahh…I see.”

That was all he had to say on the matter apparently, because he next turned back to Sara, his low intimate purr taking on a louder, more authoritative quality.

“Ya catch all that, _hase?”_

He shuffled his boot further between her legs, jabbing at the tiny wet spot on her panties. She lifted her head and he yanked the belt around her neck, causing her to topple onto all fours, her long, light brown hair hanging over her face. A single tear dripped onto the hardwood floor from the end of her nose, her response barely audible.

“…uh-huh.”

Strade blew another puff of smoke into the air above their heads, growling with approval as he leaned over to rest his forearm on his knee.

_“Wunderbar…_ Then here’s your first order. Stick out your tongues…so I can make you my own personal _ashtray.”_

Neither of them dared hesitate, knowing full well how much worse a punishment from Strade could potentially be. A mouthful of ashes was a welcome treat compared to the gruesome fates his other “guests” had suffered. They each sat up straight with their hands folded in their laps, mouths open wide and tongues waiting. He snickered, admiring the view as he shifted his weight to his other arm. 

“Mm _hmmm_ … _ja,_ very nice…”, he muttered under his breath, as if appraising a pair of used vehicles he was considering for purchase. He tapped his cigar over Y/N’s mouth, loosing a small pile of grainy, gray ashes onto her tongue. Laying one hand on the top of her head and the back of the one holding the cigar under her jaw to close her mouth, he forced her to swallow them. Her eyes watered as she choked it all down with moderate difficulty, and he laughed as she tried not to gag, affectionately rubbing under her chin as a little reward. Naturally, this was not the first time Strade had made her ingest something less than savory, but she still couldn’t stop the bile from rising up her esophagus at the loathsome taste and dry texture.

Next, he pinched the tip of Sara’s tongue between his thumb and forefinger, extending it as far as it would go and without warning, and ground the lit end of his cigar right into the center. He chuckled darkly at her shriek of pain and the faint hissing sound of her tastebuds burning away, lifting it off after a few seconds for a moment’s contemplation. It was here that Strade waited until her cries had tapered down to subdued whimpers before bringing it down again to twist it into the skin between her bare breasts, leaving an angry red circle and her throat raw from screaming. Y/N cringed, deigning to dredge up some begrudging sympathy for this girl she had been so dead set on hating. At least _she_ had gotten off easy herself, this time.

After Sara had pulled in the reins on her sobbing and incoherent babbling about not wanting to die, they both gazed up at Strade expectantly, waiting to see what he would do next. Would he have his way with them…or would he have _his_ way with them, the kind that involved at least one knife, spilled blood, and plenty of screaming? Despite the abhorrent way he had treated them thus far, it was undeniable that both women still wanted him desperately, hungry for his praise like neglected, starving animals. By the way they were looking at him, rocking a little back and forth on their haunches and panting lightly, it was as if they were resisting the primal urge to pounce into his lap and tear off his clothes with their tiny teeth themselves. 

Sara pawed uselessly at his pant leg, while Y/N inched forward to lay her head on his knee like a lazy house cat, emitting a small noise of pleading that almost thawed out his cold, poor excuse for a heart.

_“Was ist los, meine fräuleins?”_

Strade’s inquiry was playfully condescending and he raised an eyebrow at their not so subtle attempts to win his favor.

“If you need something…then show me just how much you _deserve_ it.”, he ordered, gesturing to his filthy, military-grade lace up boots. 

“Are we gonna bang or what?”, Sara blurted out, unable to hold in her frustration with his cruel games any longer. Her words came out a little distorted since proper enunciation caused her tongue to hurt even worse from the cigar burn than it already did. Strade responded to the question with a resounding slap across her face for her insolence, leaving a stinging handprint on her cheek and slightly dizzy.

“You haven’t earned that privilege yet, _Hure.”,_ he snarled, eyes narrowing down to burning gold slivers. She had actually genuinely pissed him off, which was surprisingly not as easy to do as one might think.

“If you work hard, and _know your place…_ then maybe I’ll let you suck me off. If you’re lucky. Until then, you’ll have to find some other way to take care of your ah, little problem, won’t you?…Ahahaha…”

Y/N had already figured out what he meant, straddling his boot and grinding her hips against the worn, scuffed leather like she had seen one of his victims do in one of Strade’s home movies. That time it was a guy who was forced into it as a viewer request while his back was whipped with an extension cord. After he eventually brought himself to a messy climax, Strade shoved him down onto his stomach, making him clean up every last drop of cum from his soiled boots and the disgusting, stained concrete. It was an interesting video, to say the least.

“Anything for you, Strade…”, she moaned, locking her eyes onto his with no signs of letting go as the ridges of his bootlaces created torturous friction against her oversensitive clit. After a minute or two, Sara somewhat reluctantly followed suit as well and Strade offered them nothing but that wolfish grin as they both worked themselves up for him into an unbearably wet and needy state…just like the thirsty sluts he knew they were. He sighed with contentment, leaning back on one hand while he continued to smoke his cigar down to the dregs. Humiliation and objectification were decent appetizers to start off with, for sure.

_What a night,_ he thought to himself, casually debating which tools to use on Sara in the morning, in addition to her final breakfast in this life. 

_Shame, though…a man could get used to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> Danke, liebling. - Thank you, darling.
> 
> die Kätzchen - the kitten
> 
> haschen - little bunny
> 
> nein - no
> 
> kleine hase - little rabbit
> 
> verdammt - damned
> 
> Scheiße... - Shit...
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> du kleine Göre - you little brat
> 
> ein neuer freundin - a new friend (female),
> 
> mein Kätzchen - my kitten
> 
> haustier - pet
> 
> Wunderbar... - Wonderful...
> 
> Was ist los, meine fräuleins? - What's wrong my girls? (fräulein is an old-fashioned term for a young, unmarried woman, if used today could be considered rude, but I mostly just like the way it sounds!)
> 
> Hure - whore


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's yet another chapter of rather concerning filth and sin! *dumps a rotting pile of garbage in your lap before sticking a single tiny flower on top*
> 
> If you need me for anything else, I'll be over in the corner giggling like a dang ol' weirdo about how in love I am with this dirty, sexy man. <3

XIX. Blood and Moonlight

They just could _not_ take this anymore. All that desperate, rhythmless grinding had set their very cores on fire, rendering them both so thoroughly sopping wet that Strade could have sworn they were trying to polish his boots to a high mirror shine. Y/N and Sara exchanged a brief glance of solidarity, acknowledging that they were in the same torturous boat. With a silent nod, they resolved to call a temporary truce in order to achieve their mutual goal. After all, there was plenty of Strade to go around…for _both_ of them.

Y/N reached down between her legs, feeling how soaked her underwear was with blood and slick as she mewled and moaned up at him. Calling his name, calling him “Daddy”…even calling him “ _Master”._ Anything to get him to stop just staring down at them with that patronizing smirk of his, like they were puppies performing tricks for his entertainment. As much as she wanted nothing more than for him to just throw Sara out of the bedroom and take her in his arms, making slow, romantic love to her like she only saw in movies, it would be a freezing day in hell before that happened. That just wasn’t Strade’s style. His idea of romance was lounging on the sofa binge-watching his old stream recordings and eating takeout until he got so worked up he had to bend her over the coffee table, sending Ren scurrying upstairs at a speed that damn near broke the sound barrier.

Or, you know, whatever _this_ fuckery was.

“Aw…You can do better than _that,_ can’t you?”, Strade mocked them with an artificially sweet, lilting tone of voice, lazily waving his cigar to and fro. He was drinking down their sexual frustration like it was the perfect full-bodied whiskey to compliment it.

“Especially _you, liebling_ …”, he said to Y/N, tapping the end on the top of her head, sprinkling more ashes to catch in her hair.

“Should be an expert rider by now, I would think! HahaHA!…. _aahhh…”_

Suddenly feeling a surge of indignant courage to match her arousal, she stopped what she was doing to climb his leg like a tree, now straddling his thigh instead of his boot. She knew she was going to get bloodstains all over his beige cargo pants but she didn’t care, and quite frankly, neither did he. To her surprise, he didn’t even swat her away to fall back on the floor. Instead he just smiled at her, eyelids sensually lowered and tongue curling wetly from his mouth as he licked his fingers, using the moisture to put out his cigar which he then set in the proper ashtray on the nightstand. He was going to need a free hand. The entire time, he kept his eyes on hers, not flinching or even blinking when his skin touched the smoldering lit end. If anything, the mild burn got him going even more.

“…Ah…Strade, please…I-I…”, she stammered, unsure of what she even wanted to say to him. The way he was looking at her was making her mind feel fuzzy.

“You _what?…_ Hmmm….?”

She found herself so breathless, so weak for him that even the gentle brush of his fingertips under her chin made her shiver and gasp with desire. Meanwhile, Sara had taken advantage of his momentary lapse in attention to pull herself up onto his other leg despite the minimal slack from the belt looped tightly around her neck. Amused and somewhat impressed by their combined efforts, he looked them up and down, fixing them to the spot with his intimidating gaze and strong hands.

“Will ya look at this… _Sie kommen direkt zu mir wie gute kleine Sklaven sollten…”,_ Strade observed as he allowed both women to melt against him, burying their hands in his messy, greased-up hair. Y/N cautiously turned his head towards her to kiss the scar on his scruffy jaw, slowly trailing her lips down his neck to his collar while Sara went to work at the buttons on his shirt. They felt rather than heard the low growl of pleasure in his throat and his hand came down hard on Y/N’s ass, making her cry out in surprise but not quite pain. His nails dug deep into their supple flesh, dragging them closer as Sara dipped her head down to run her tongue over his broad muscular pectorals, so moist and salty with the beads of sweat that clung to his chest hair. 

He forced one of Y/N’s hands down to his crotch, challenging her with the voracious gleam in his eyes to take what he knew she had been searching for all night. As always, it took her breath away to feel how dauntingly hard and massive he was, and it gave her a fleeting power-trip to know it was probably her doing.

“Can I…?”, Y/N whispered, lightly touching his bare chest through his partially open shirt but Strade was way ahead of her, already unzipping his fly. He pressed her hand firmly onto his throbbing erection, biting down harshly on his lower lip with heated anticipation as Sara continued to tongue-bathe his neck like a mother cat grooming her young. She tugged at his shirt impatiently, trying to expose more of his glistening tan skin.

“You don’t need my permission, _schätzchen._ I know what you want…”, he purred against Y/N’s mouth, both of them dancing around a tentative kiss as their warm, urgent breaths intermingled. 

“You do…?”, she sighed, feeling a light sheen of perspiration beginning to emerge and glow all over her body as she moved against him, her breasts sliding up and down his chest.

“Mmm, _ja_ …haha, I _always_ do…”, he growled, showing off an arrogant tilt in his predatory grin.

“…so just take it.”

He sprang himself free into her waiting palm just as their tongues entwined in a frantic, graceless duel of hot flesh and saliva. She stroked his eager, rigid cock with a sure and possessive grip, reveling in her lover’s indulgent moans and feral growls at the feel of her capable hand. Sara managed to get his shirt completely undone and she pushed it down his left shoulder, tracing a curious finger over the strange symbol on his bicep.

“I like your tattoo, Strade…”, she whispered shyly into his ear, massaging his toned shoulder with the hand that wasn’t trying to get into the action downstairs as well. He pulled Y/N’s head back from his mouth by her hair, spittle dribbling from his lips as he turned to bare his teeth at Sara in a twisted mockery of a smile.

“Oh, _do_ you now…? I could give you one just like it, if ya want…”, Strade suggested, reaching behind him to fish his pocket knife out of the rumpled sheets. He snapped it open alarmingly close to her face, and her wide eyes followed the blade as it swayed hypnotically in her line of vision.

_“Or…_ I could make it a bit more… _personal.”_

He grazed the tip down the length of her arm, panting excitedly at the look of uncertainty and fear in her eyes. 

“Where do you want it, _hase?”,_ he asked her, yanking the belt wrapped tightly around his fingers to pull her closer.

“Don’t make me choose _for_ you…”

“Go ahead…maybe I _want_ you to…”, Sara said breathily, not entirely sure if she was making another big mistake by admitting that to Strade in the first place. She leaned into him, ignoring the cold metal scratching progressively deeper lines in her skin as she pressed her lipstick-smeared mouth against his. Her hand wandered even further down into his lap, trying to touch him in any way she could and he groaned lustily against her lips, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of these two wanton, willing women lavishing his body with their undivided attention. 

Y/N watched them kiss with a kind of a furious longing for a moment before trying to lure Strade back to her by nestling her face in his neck and nibbling gently at his collarbone, at the same time intensifying her ministrations elsewhere. Sara was muscling in on _her_ territory and she worked her fist all the way up and down his thick shaft in an effort to discourage the other girl from touching something that didn’t rightfully belong to her.

Strade could sense the bad blood between them and he chuckled lowly at Y/N’s guiltless expression of delight when he raked the blade right through the unmarked skin of Sara’s arm, curving up and around to her shoulder. She howled out in pain as her hand flew up to cover the wound and he shoved his bloody knife into her wide open mouth, holding down her tongue with the flat side. 

“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking, _dummes_ _haschen…_ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, anyway! Make yourself _useful,_ and I might go easy on ya!~”

He then proceeded to loudly hawk up a gob of phlegm and saliva to spit directly into the back of her mouth, which then drizzled down her throat, causing her to swallow uncomfortably. Y/N nuzzled her cheek against his face, using her unoccupied hand to lovingly play with the sweat-dampened curls dangling over one of his eyes as he ordered Sara to stand up. Her heart did a couple of exuberant flip-flops at his next words, savoring the pull of his rough fingers through the tangles in her shoulder-length hair and the tickle of his warm breath just below her ear. She didn’t even have to understand what he was telling her…she knew Strade well enough by now.

“Hahah… _Du bleibst bei mir, Y/N.”_

_~_

Settling himself in a half-upright position against the headboard with one leg drawn up, Strade gave a harsh tug of the belt-leash in his hand to force Sara down onto all fours in front of him, while using his other to beckon Y/N closer to his side from her temporary spot at the edge of the bed. Though he was shirtless, he hadn’t bothered to even remove his boots (or pants) so clumps of dirt and mud were now smeared into the bedding under his feet to go along with the faded blood stains multiple washings hadn’t quite been able to erase. He gazed up at her from under slightly lowered lashes, the look in his eye welcoming and almost kind in contrast to the jerking motion of his wrist as he yanked Sara’s mouth up and down on his cock. The latter was under the vaguely clear impression that if she was able to please him, maybe she wouldn’t end up like one of the unfortunates she watched him mutilate beyond recognition during his livestreams. Half the truth of the matter was that she was a rather vain and shallow girl, relying largely on her physical attractiveness to not only validate her self-worth, but also for financial support. If Strade cut up her face, or any of the other parts of her profitably young, lithe body that her customers paid to see the most, she would be more than devastated. Needless to say, she had to do what he told her to in order to save her own _literal_ skin. The other half was that, to put it bluntly…

That was all complete bullshit.

Despite clinging on to a glimmer of hope as tight as the leather leash digging chafed, red grooves into her neck, Sara was unaware that Strade would just as soon bake her a batch of heart-shaped cookies or compose a thoughtful poem about the meaning of existence than allow her to ever get out of here alive. Blissfully content in this knowledge, he grinned as her throat contracted around his substantial length before flicking his eyes back in Y/N’s direction. What Sara didn’t know couldn’t hurt her…just yet.

“Come on over, _liebling…_ I won’t bite!”, Strade assured his hesitant pet, licking his chops like a starving wolf. Y/N hung back a bit, understandably squeamish about what he was so heavily implying with that sinful glint in his eye. It had taken her a while to become accustomed to the fact that the presence of her menstrual blood drove him absolutely mad, though this was the only time he had expressed an interest in wanting to take a taste directly from the source. To her, it was sort of sweet in a way. Ever since she had gotten her first period at age thirteen she had been told how shameful it was, how much it was necessary to hide it from others…namely men. In fact, Strade was the only one she had ever met who wholeheartedly accepted and embraced her body exactly for the way it was…maybe a little _too_ much, in fact. He had taught her that all of her so-called perceived “flaws” made her even more desirable in his eyes. 

_Especially_ the ones he created himself.

~

“That _wasn’t._ A _question.”_

A hint of irritation snuck into the end of his sentence, showing the cracks in his calm demeanor as he twirled his knife in his hand before unexpectedly stabbing it through the sheets into the mattress without looking, leaving it there as a placeholder no doubt. Y/N flinched at the sudden quick movement, knowing it just as easily could have been her flesh that was punctured but remained quiet nonetheless, feeling the rising fire in her pink cheeks burn brighter under the weight of his scrutinizing eye. She crawled over the covers to his side and he immediately seized her leg once it was within reach, effortlessly posing her like a doll with her knees on either side of his chest. She reflexively grasped onto the wooden slats in the headboard to keep her balance but he held fast to her thighs, pushing them apart and staring up at her with a devious, lusty grin. 

“Strade, wait!…a-are you sure?…I-I don’t know if you should…?”

Her only answer came in the form of his bare hands savagely ripping apart the only remaining barrier between her and his drooling, sharp-toothed maw, carelessly discarding the torn pieces of cotton like they were wrapping paper on a particular gift he had been _dying_ to open.

“….do that….”, she finished awkwardly, suddenly feeling very _exposed._

“The better question is; are _you_ sure you want to second-guess me like that? You’re in a rather, _ahh_ … _vulnerable_ position at the moment…”

He slid two fingers inside of her, curling them in a very specific way that made her stomach clench and her knuckles turn white as she gripped the headboard, and he teasingly licked the crease where her leg joined her pelvis as blood oozed steadily over his hand.

“Nuh-no…I…ahh!…I don’t! I _won’t!”_

He pulled his fingers back, scissoring them apart in front of his face a couple of times before sucking them clean.

“Mmmnn…That’s a good _haustier._ _Very_ good. You _did_ say I was the boss, after all. Maybe don’t contradict yourself again, _ja?"_

Strade didn’t have time to wait for an answer, too busy dragging his hot, slick tongue along her dripping slit, making her tiny yips and yelps elevate to a wordless, shuddering cry as he pressed the tip hard against her sensitive apex. He flicked it upwards, humming with approval at the intoxicating flavor and aroma of her blood, as well as the way her hips jolted suddenly in his clutches. This was much different from the fresher kind he was used to drawing forth from her veins with his teeth, nails, or knives. Sort of… _aged._ Like a fine, red wine.

“Hm, hm, _hmmm~_ ….like that, _schätzchen?_ Don’t lie to me, now…I can feel your thighs shaking.”

Y/N could only moan in response, one of her hands coming down from the headboard to weave her fingers into his hair. She cautioned herself to avoid pulling on it, mindful of the threatening weapon that was well within his reach. Sure, it was only a modified pocket knife, but in Strade’s dangerously skilled hands it may as well have been a machete. He knew exactly where to cut someone to make it hurt so bad they’d wish for death. But he would only grant them that mercy if he felt like it…because he _also_ knew how to stop the bleeding. 

His heavy, humid breath washed over her cunt, tongue stuttering as he gave himself over to the pleasure that Sara was immersing him in with her own well-versed appendage. After he began to lose control he stopped trying to steer her head with the belt, just trusting her to do the job that was expected of her. So far she had made good on delivering the blowjob in bed…now all that was missing was the breakfast.

The resulting heightened state of arousal had him switching between sloppily fucking Y/N with both his tongue and as many of his calloused fingers as he could fit without any sort of rhyme or reason, until blood covered his mouth and chin, dripping down to his chest like melted iced cream. While spreading it all over her legs, finger-painting nonsensical shapes he bit down on her soft inner thighs until they bruised to a deep, dark shade of sangria. He sucked mercilessly on her clit, nibbling on that torturously sensitive sweet spot between his teeth until she was screaming at him to stop or she was going to fucking snap in half.

“Ohh…louder for me…. _meine…Süße…_ ”, Strade encouraged her between hasty gulps of air as she rode his face like a rocking horse, feverishly grinding on his mouth and pushing him back into the headboard while he clawed viciously at the backs of her thighs to pin her against him with his nails. 

_“Dein Gesang…klingt so köstlich…wie du schmeckst.”_

With a hard smack (or several) across the ass, she was more than happy to oblige.

After a few more minutes of using Sara’s mouth as a cock-sleeve while indulging himself on Y/N’s hot, blood-slicked pussy, head tilted back and fingers leaving scarlet trails all the way down her thighs, a fun idea came to him.

He never did give his little fangirl that tattoo she wanted.

“The knife, _liebling_ …. _mmmnnahh_ …”, he purred against her tight opening before slipping his tongue back inside to lap up more of her coppery essence. He closed his eyes for a moment, fantasizing about just splitting her fragile body open right down the middle to simply let it pour all over him so he could roll around in it like a wild boar in the mud…but he knew it would be a one-time thing only and so he refrained with some difficulty. Pulling his mouth from between her legs to shoot her an impatient look, he shoved her aside with one hand, causing her to almost topple over onto the metal hilt half-hidden by a fold in the coverlet.

“Are you… _deaf…?_ Ahh… _Get it.”,_ Strade growled, trying but only half-succeeding to sound as menacing as he thought he did. He found it hard to concentrate with Sara gobbling his dick like she’d never been fed in her life and it also didn’t help that he now had an unobstructed view of her face down in his lap and her ass up in the air, temptingly swaying back and forth. She raised her head to blink up at him, smiling contentedly despite (or maybe because of) her prominent head-wound and the dried blood crusted down her face.

“Better…keep going, Sara _…I’mmm…_ far from… _hahhh_ …being done with you.”, he warned her, giving the belt another good yank which earned him a cute little choking noise that made him want to say “awww.”

Y/N retrieved his knife as he watched her, pulling herself back up to a kneeling position and carefully lifting the blade with her fingers rather than a quick snap of the wrist like Strade would often do. This was his property and even though it was a ridiculous notion, she was terrified of damaging it. She stared at the lamplight reflected in the shining steel, then lifted her solemn, reverent gaze back up to meet her master’s eyes, like two flickering flames dancing in the shadows created by his unkempt, now very dirty hair. His half-moon grin was stained dark red with her blood and she knew he was still hungry for more by the way his chest rose and fell with each excited breath, and the high color in his face and neck. 

“Hahh…hah….I want you…to cut her.”

His tongue swiped his lower lip to collect some of the blood that was running down his chin, and she hesitated, clutching the knife in both hands between her breasts like it was some kind of holy relic.

“Wha…where?”

“Wherever you want…where there’s enough room…”, he groaned, one eye squeezed shut as he sat upright. He suddenly slammed his hand down on top of the back of Sara’s head with alarming speed, filling her spasming throat to the brim just once before twisting her around and hauling her up, coughing and gasping for breath, into his lap. Y/N moved in front of her, trying not to listen too closely to the strangled gagging noises she was making as he choked her with the belt while violently impaling her petite frame on his fat, meaty cock. 

_“Ghhlkkk_ …st-stop!… _hrkkk_ …Please, Str-Strade…Ahh—you’re way too… _Big!”_

He just laughed obnoxiously in her ear, wrapping a fistful of her long, sandy-colored tresses around the same knuckles as the belt to painfully wrench her head back onto his shoulder. 

“Oh hush!~ You _know_ you like it, _du kleine Flittchen.”_

Y/N ignored the blazing jealousy threatening to tie her stomach in tight knots in favor of gingerly placing the edge of the knife in the center of the terrified girl’s chest. Before she could break through the thin skin just above her cleavage, Strade reached around her side to grasp Y/N’s wrist so forcefully that she almost dropped the knife blade-down onto her own leg.

_“Ach, nein_ …an _“S”…!”_ , he hissed through his teeth, then traced his hand up her arm to her hair where he gently tucked one side behind her ear to better take in her adorably frightened expression over Sara’s shoulder. 

_“…Bitte, bitte?”,_ he added, much softer this time. He cupped her face in his hand, lightly rubbing the pad of his thumb over her lips. It was rare for Strade to be this delicate with her, a treat usually reserved for the tail-end of the more rigorous “play-time” sessions he forced her to endure. Where he would painstakingly lick and kiss each of her wounds before cleaning and stitching them up with a thread in her favorite bright colors, speaking soothing words of reassurance to her all the while. It was worth taking the time to do so since he had learned first-hand from his experiences with Ren that a nurtured, cared-for pet would be more likely to perform better and last longer than one that was neglected and abused with no after-care.

Although sometimes, when their eyes would meet while the needle pierced her flesh over and over, she would silently mouth his name…followed by those three simple words that he never quite understood or ever even heard from someone in her situation. He would always pause mid-stitch, brow furrowed and head tilting to the side in a caught off guard sort of way, and for only an instant would consider responding in kind…but then he would come back to himself and just jam his finger into the end of the cut that hadn’t yet been closed off so that things made sense again. It was the look of unadulterated bliss that graced his handsomely deranged face as Y/N threw back her head and screamed, nails scratching and grabbing uselessly at his shirt-sleeve in pure agony as he stirred around her raw, bloody flesh that was probably as close to showing real love for her that Strade was ever going to get.

XX. With Sugar on Top

Y/N froze up with the knife still resting in the middle of Sara’s bouncing chest, her heart sinking rapidly under the pressure of Strade’s baffling command echoing in her head. _The letter “S”._ Her shaky fingers reflexively wandered down to her abdomen, running over his permanently carved autograph, a solid promise that he would keep her always. Why would he do the same to this random _nobody_ …and force her to execute the deed herself, no less?

Exercising the utmost patience, he leaned a bit further forward, pressing his bloody lips to her cheekbone and guiding her hand to slice three, long diagonal cuts into the pristine flesh between them, just like the ones that he had gifted her on one of the happiest days of her life. He smiled at her then, easing the relentless assault on Sara’s screaming figure in his lap as he noticed that his precious kitten was starting to cry. She didn’t shed that many tears anymore unless he was being particularly cruel to her, so the sight of the moisture welling up in her wide, innocent eyes nearly pushed him over the edge.

“Oh-ho… _mmm…_ such a good girl…for me…”

He chewed his lip, biting back the overwhelming urge to whip Sara sideways off the bed and slam the knife deep into Y/N’s guts instead so that he could spill his hot release inside of her womb in another kind of way.

_“…L…”,_ he said clearly, emphasizing the single syllable with the movement of his tongue on the roof of his mouth. It was here that she perked up considerably, expression alight with a profound sense of relief that only grew brighter when he next called for a “U.” By the time the crooked, rushed letter “T” was crossed like a sacred marking in a pagan blood ritual, seeping red rivulets that drizzled all down Sara’s front like liquid pinstripes, she had all the proof needed to erase her doubts. 

o _h god yes he loves me he loves ONLY me he really does he just has to he has to…HE HAS TO!_

Nothing could convince her otherwise at this point, and not just because of the hungry, sensual way in which he proceeded to devour the inside of her mouth, or the vibration of his deep, primal growls reverberating in her teeth that sent electric shivers down her spine as he came hard, splattering the battered walls of Sara’s violated cunt with his sticky seed.

No. It was a bit hard for her to describe, but it was really all in that heavy-lidded, fool’s gold gaze of his. His eyes only sparkled with such perverse radiance when he was entranced by his favorite hunting knife…as its curved blade came slipping out of someone’s innards, drenched with hot, viscous gore that slopped messily onto his boots. As they offered him one final, hopeless cry just before they gave up the ghost.

“Alright there, _liebe?_ You’re looking a little… _woozy.”_

He gave Sara a light shove in the back to fall face first onto the mattress, twitching and drooling into the tangled sheets as she struggled to recover from her ordeal, then waved his hand playfully in front Y/N’s eyes to get her attention. She returned his lazy, vaguely concerned smile, quietly insisting that she would indeed, be just fine.

_"Happy”, Strade…You meant to say “happy."_

_~_

Later on, as the line between the late night and early morning hours began to blur, while Y/N and Sara lay fast asleep draped across either side of his chest, Strade began to stir restlessly from a light slumber. The heady mix of sweat, blood, and sex still hung thick and stifling in the air, calling out to him with the confidence of a temptress who knew just how brittle his self-control threshold really was. He stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the soft, alternating breaths of the two exhausted women at his side, drumming his fingers on his stomach and twiddling his thumbs to try and distract himself. He just really, _really_ wanted to sleep. Badly, in fact…but he was nearing the point of no return now. Where he would just have to stick his dick in _something_ before the deafening _ba-dum, ba-dum_ of their delicate little heartbeats and their maddeningly warm skin so full of _life_ against his, scattered his last remaining wisps of sanity to the four winds.

_“Ah…Scheiß drauf.”_

With that small, half-hearted admission of defeat, Strade finally pushed Sara off to the side and rolled over on top of Y/N, pinning her on her back with her wrists against the headboard and sheathing his achingly hard length inside of her already slick heat with a delicious ease that made his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. Now barely awake, she squeaked with confusion into the crook of his shoulder at the sudden intrusion, still quite disoriented from her so rudely interrupted rest. 

He exhaled a ragged sigh, muttering something in unintelligible German under his breath and digging his fingertips into her ribs as he arched his back, slipping in and out of her with increasing fervor. The extra lubrication of her blood coating his cock like a fine, glossy lacquer felt nothing short of exquisite and he moaned with shameless abandon, not caring one iota if Y/N was enjoying herself or not. (Spoiler alert: she was.) Raking his blood-encrusted fingernails down her shoulder blades, he muffled her weak, tired cries with his slimy tongue in her partially open mouth, fucking her hard enough for blood to pool in a tacky, clotted puddle beneath them. He lifted his head to gaze down at her face illuminated by the moon in his bedroom window, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, cheeks flushed, and parted lips swollen and wet from his ferocious brand of “kiss.”

_“Meine Liebling…”,_ he growled, thrusting as deep as he could go and holding himself still, while at the same time teasing her neck with his warm, metallic-smelling breath while he prepared to sprint for the finish line.

“You know, I try so hard. I really do…but sometimes…it’s just that…”

“ _Du machst es so schwer, dich nicht zu brechen.”_

_~_

Meanwhile Sara lay curled up and shaking in the fetal position on her side, facing away from the two of them as a combination of heavy panting and wet squelching noises flooded her ears, paralyzed with fear and regret as she pondered how many hours or even minutes she had left on this earth. It was only a matter of time before Strade would be putting on that familiar skull mask and throwing her in front of the camera to take her turn on his vile, freak-show thrill ride. She cursed her idiotic, sex-addled brain for falling for him in the way that she did, knowing full-well that even if she could go back in time and do things differently, she probably still _would_ give him her phone number, still leave the door to her apartment unlocked, still get inside his car. Consequences be damned, her meager will just wasn’t strong enough to resist the brutally charming, merciless death machine that was B3G_CRY…and now she had the scars to prove it.

… _Slut, slut, slut…you’re a dirty, little slut!_

Sara’s guilty conscience chanted over and over in time to the quickening rhythm of the mattress creaking and the bed-frame rocking against the wall, beating her stupid skull in with a mantra made of tiny hammers. Driving home the horrible truth that marred her perky tits with its hideous, scabbed over knife-scrawl. 

_Maybe he’ll at least fuck you again before you die, you worthless bitch._

It was certainly a comforting notion to hang onto when she needed it the most, but knowing now what she didn’t know about him when he was still little more than an innocent crush…

…she seriously doubted that Strade would be so kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> Sie kommen direkt zu mir wie gute kleine Sklaven sollten. - They come right to me like good little slaves should.
> 
> schätzchen - baby
> 
> hase - rabbit
> 
> dummes haschen - silly bunny
> 
> Du bleibst bei mir - You're staying with me.
> 
> haustier - pet
> 
> meine Süße - my sweet
> 
> Dein Gesang klingt so köstlich wie du schmeckst. - Your singing sounds as delicious as you taste.
> 
> du kleine Flittchen - you little slut
> 
> Ach, nein. - Oh, no.
> 
> Bitte, bitte? - Pretty please?
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> Ah...Scheiß drauf - Ah...Fuck it.
> 
> Du machst es so schwer, dich nicht zu brechen. - You make it so hard not to break you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara finally wakes up after a wild night with Strade...but wait. She can't move her arms!
> 
> ...And um...what's that weird smell?
> 
> Uh-oh.

XXI. Sunday Morning

Too much light, glaringly bright and artificial. That and the overpowering chemical smell of cleaning solution mixed with something… _coppery?_ …was like a slap in the face as Sara managed to pry her eyelids open, trying to focus on her slightly blurry surroundings. She felt so groggy but didn’t even remember falling asleep.

Wait, where was she again? The surface underneath her naked body was hard and freezing cold, just the opposite of the comfortable bed she had apparently passed out on. It all came crashing back as she realized she had one fuck of a headache and her arms were bound tightly behind her with what felt like rope. It dug into her wrists, shooting faint pins and needles through her fingers from the restricted circulation, and her back and shoulders ached from being propped straight up against the wooden support beam she was tied to. There was pain elsewhere as well; a dull, superficial throb across her chest and upper arm as well as the same somewhere lower, deeper. She then remembered what she had done, or rather, what had been done to her the night before. What _he_ did.

_Strade._

There he was, speak of the devil, standing off to one side and leaning casually against a tall wooden cabinet, watching intently as she tried to get her bearings. He was wearing a worn in black wife-beater, thick leather gloves, and a warm smile that probably would have been more endearing were it not for the maniacal glimmer in his eyes or the disheveled state of his scraggly hair. He looked like someone you would probably cross the street to avoid walking past on the sidewalk, but as she lifted her head to meet his unnerving stare she felt her heart flutter for a reason other than fear…and she hated him for it.

“Mornin’, Sara! Sleep well?” 

Strade broke the tense silence with a friendly greeting, pushing off the cabinet to pace back and forth in front of her spot on the concrete floor. Despite those heavy military boots, his footsteps were nimble and visibly restless, like he was waiting for something. Or had been waiting for a while now and had grown tired of doing so. She noticed the hip holster attached to his belt and for a panicked instant thought he had a gun, but quickly realized the shape was all wrong. Plus, after being a fan of his work for several years, she should have known by now that knives and other sharp objects were far more tailored to his taste than firearms. She cleared her throat and swallowed the dry, scratchy feeling before she attempted to answer him but her weak voice still cracked, making her sound even more pathetic to her own ears.

“Where…am I? H-How did I get here?”

He stopped mid-stride and suddenly crouched down in front of her, a little too close for comfort. He reached out with both hands, placing them on her thighs and squeezing lightly, making her draw in a sharp breath at the not entirely unwelcome contact.

“Details, details! You ask too many questions, _haustier._ ” 

So far she had only asked two, but that was two too many for Strade’s liking. He seemed like he wanted to keep her in suspense. She craned her neck, trying to see around his sturdy, imposing frame to get a handle on their whereabouts. There were wooden cabinets and carpentry tools everywhere, even mounted on the dingy, stained walls. It appeared to be a basement workshop of some kind, given the flight of stairs leading up into the shadows on her left, and the table saw in the opposite corner of the room. There were no windows to be seen, and the florescent lighting overhead made the faded, brick-colored spatters littered across the floor around her stand out against the drab gray of the concrete. 

Something about this room tripped her memory, a sense of _deja-vu_ even though she knew she had never been here before…but she sure as hell had seen it, hadn’t she? From the safety of her cozy bedroom with a laptop screen and at least a good twenty-five miles between her and… _Oh god,_ she thought. _This is it._

This was where she was going to die.

“Is…is this where you…?”, Sara started to say, ignoring the fact that she was posing yet another question he probably wouldn’t answer. Instead, Strade’s eyes lit up as he leaned in, indicating that he knew exactly what she wanted to ask.

“Ah, you’ve got a good eye! This is where the “magic” happens, so to speak…”, he chirped, patting her head gently as if to praise her for being clever. His expression darkened slightly and a mean edge stiffened his smile as his other hand applied painful pressure high up on her leg, his thumb rubbing the inside of her thigh.

“…but if you were hoping to be part of the show, you’re outta luck. I’ve decided I want it to be just the two of us today!”

Another fuzzy detail came back to her from the previous night’s affair. Another girl. She had looked awful, with almost no part of her unmarked by scars or dark bruises. And that metal collar around her neck, with the little bell. As if she was nothing more to him than a common house pet. Sara suddenly felt both sick to her stomach and strangely jealous at the same time.

“Two?”, she pressed on, adamant on getting some kind of real answers out of him. If he was going to kill her anyway she might as well pick his brain before he bashed hers in, or whatever _else_ he had planned. “What about your…uh…assistant?”

Strade raised an eyebrow, smirking at her persistent curiosity before getting to his feet. He stood over her, stretching his arms in front of him and loudly cracking his knuckles. Her breath hitched when she saw his biceps flex, imagining how easy it would be for him to just snap her neck like a twig with his bare hands.

“Oh, you mean Y/N? I’m letting her sleep in this morning. Poor _liebling_ was pretty tuckered out after all the… _fun_ …we had last night.”

He bent down towards her with his hands planted on his knees, raking his bright gold-coin gaze over her exposed flesh. She shivered, wanting to avert her eyes but found herself unable to. He lingered for a moment on her face, subtly licking his lips before straightening up and walking over to the mini-fridge near his workbench. He called over his shoulder as he pulled open the door and rummaged around on the top shelf.

“Now, how about some breakfast? You must be so hungry!”

She was. Her stomach rumbled audibly, a palpable hollowness in her gut beginning to grow at the mention of food. However, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to eat anything he had to give her. Not from the fridge in his torture basement. She’d more than likely contract some kind of deadly food-borne illness judging by the less than sanitary conditions down here…not that it mattered _now_ anyway. What he returned with, balanced on one hand like a serving platter, made her forget everything else but her fear as her fight or flight response began to kick into gear.

Of course, she was dealing with a textbook sadist. Why _wouldn’t_ he be holding a fucking carton of eggs? Sara’s only known, serious allergy that she had so stupidly made him aware of, never once thinking he would use it against her for his own sick means of entertainment. His mouth twisted up in a knowing grin, and he lifted the cardboard lid to display the tiny, deadly weapons inside as he moved closer. He chuckled at the way she scrunched herself up against the beam, drawing her knees up to her chest and instinctively setting her jaw to keep her mouth shut. She could almost feel her throat closing up already as he circled the top of one shell with his finger before lifting it and holding it out to her.

“They’re not cooked, but I bet they’ll still taste fine. Hope ya don’t mind!~”, he said with a maddeningly fake sweetness that made her hunger pangs churn into a wave of nausea. No, not like this. Anything but _this._

“Strade, please…don’t…If you just let me go, I-I won’t tell anyone about you! I won’t even watch your stuff anymore. You won’t have to worry about me at all!”

He sighed and put the egg back inside the carton before setting it on a nearby table, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head at her.

“Oh, _Sara…_ Sara, Sara, Sara. You didn’t really think I would let you leave just like that, did you?”, Strade reprimanded her, bringing a hand up to his chest and regarding her with an almost sympathetic expression. Almost. She gave him the tiniest nod, refusing to actually make eye contact as she felt her cheeks flush pink in embarrassment. He laughed aloud, a hearty and boisterous sound that echoed off the walls and caused her to flinch back even further against the beam behind her.

_“Wie bezaubernd ist das hier?”,_ he said with a slight tilt of his head and an indulgent, toothy smile. “You really _are_ a naive little thing!” Sara lowered her head to stare at the space between her feet, deeply ashamed for ever putting even the least bit of trust in someone who made a living in snuff porn. What a joke. She had nothing to say to defend herself because he had never been more right. Strade turned to his workbench, thoughtfully scanning the wall-mounted tools above while continuing to speak to her in that same condescending tone of voice. 

“Well, since you don’t want your breakfast just yet…”

He reached up and lifted a slightly rusty crowbar off of its hooks, getting a good grip with both hands as he swiveled back around to face her.

“…then it looks like I’ll have to help you work up an _appetite!”_

The last word left his mouth with a growl as he took an aggressive practice swing at the empty air, and she emitted a frightened yelp, resuming her fruitless bargaining tactics. She wasn’t sure which was worse, going out via anaphylaxis or beaten to death with a hooked steel rod. Neither option would leave behind a nice-looking corpse.

“Please, no…I…I’ll do whatever you want!”, she called out to him as he just stood there with the crowbar resting on his shoulder like a baseball bat, his eyes widening as he stroked the stubble on his chin. After a moment’s thought, he snapped his fingers.

“I know! How ‘bout you _cry_ for me? …Give me some real tears.”

Sara just stared up at him, not comprehending. She was positive he was just going to ask for some degrading sexual favor, but this was not what she expected.

“Wha…why? What do youuAAGGHHH!!!”

An anguished shriek was torn from her throat as the hooked end of the crowbar collided with her ankle, knocking her leg out from under her with a crack like someone stepping on a bundle of kindling. Pain enveloped her lower leg, so unbearably vivid that it was blinding. There was no way that the bone wasn’t utterly shattered after a blow like that. 

“That should get the waterworks going, _ja?”,_ Strade chuckled, nudging her foot with the toe of his boot. She bit back another scream as the splintered bones of her ankle chafed against one another, vision blurring as tears stung the corners of her eyes. 

“There ya go! Good girl…”

Strade reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rectangular object that confused her even further, igniting a spark of hope within her that quickly fizzled out when he landed a merciless kick to her rapidly swelling and bruised leg. Her fingernails burrowed deep enough into her palms to nearly draw blood as she struggled not to strain her vocal cords with yet another screech of agony. This time she allowed her own heavy tears to take its place as he loomed overhead with her smartphone in his hand, its pastel pink plastic case adorned with cartoon heart emojis served as a jarring contrast to the grimy browns and grays of this literal dungeon. He held the crowbar between his knees while he punched some buttons, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Scratching his head, he palmed a stubborn coil of hair away from his face as he flipped the phone around to show her the screen.

“How do you work this thing? I can’t find the camera.”

Sara gaped at him in disbelief before responding in a weak near-whisper.

“Button…on the side…”

“Ohh!~ Haha… _Ich hätte es wissen müssen…”,_ Strade grumbled to himself before pointing the camera lens down at the top of her head.

“Hey hey, look at me! Aaand… _smile!”_

He crouched down to show her the photo as she blinked repeatedly from the flash, curling an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her cheeks between his thumb and index finger to make her look when she tried to turn her face away.

“Hmhmm~…See how pretty you look?” Strade cooed, positively beaming as he grinned from ear to ear at the sight of his handiwork.

Sara cringed when she saw her miserable and defeated likeness in the picture, gazing up at the camera from the floor with Strade’s boots and out of focus fingertip in the corner of the shot. Her long hair was a dirty, matted rat’s nest, dried blood caked down one side of her face, terrified eyes wide and streaming tears. Her makeup smeared across her cheeks like she had stopped halfway through washing it off and worst of all, the “T U L S” carved into the soft skin of her chest. Anyone that was capable of reading backwards would take one look at this sad portrait and know for sure that she deserved the title. 

Especially after what Strade intended to do with it. 

Cuddling up to her and resting his head comfortably on hers as he played with her phone, he logged into the site where Sara worked as a camgirl through an app, recognizing the logo on her home screen from his “research”. Her password was saved, so it ended up being as easy as a click of a button and a swipe of a finger to upload her latest “selfie” to her profile. She felt like she should have been mortified, but really what did it matter? Her followers would never know what happened to that broken, sobbing girl in the photo.

“Quick, think of a funny caption!” He teased her, playfully prodding her in the ribs with his elbow. She groaned through her teeth, trying to ignore the thrumming pain in her ankle as she opened her mouth to respond.

“Felt cute…might die later.”, she deadpanned, her mouth going as dry as a bone at the sound of his un-ironic laughter in her ear. She loathed herself with a passion for how attractive she still found him. 

“BAhahah!! Ahh..good one, _schatzi,_ I’ll give ya that!”

It felt surreal as she helplessly watched him hit send and the picture popped up alongside her other photos and videos with all their likes and comments. Almost as if she was witnessing someone else’s life being lived through that screen. It couldn’t be hers…could it?

Her existential bubble of dread was burst as Strade abruptly pulled himself to his feet, dropping her phone on the floor in front of her. Before she realized what he was doing, he smashed the crowbar down on top of it two consecutive times, spraying shards of metal and pink plastic in every direction. When he was satisfied, he swept the pile of pieces away with the side of his boot and poked under her chin with the hooked end of the dangerous tool still in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Seriously, Strade…? F-fuck off.”

Sara tried her best to glare up at him but he only stared right back, smiling fondly and chuckling at her pitiful attempt to seem tough.

“Aw…now don’t be like that, _hase…_ You won’t be needing that silly thing anymore. And besides… _”,_ Strade insisted, reaching down to ruffle her hair. His relatively light touch became suddenly harsh and painful as he balled his fist up in the tangles and slammed the back of her head against the support beam with a snarl. His lively, bouncy voice dipped low as he bent down to press his mouth to her ear, coming across as an unspoken threat. The basement seemed much colder all of a sudden despite his hot breath fanning the side of her face. Spinning.

“…Kinda _rude_ to be fucking around on your phone when you’re with a buddy, wouldn’t you _agree?!”_

Starting to breathe harder, her breasts heaving up and down with the effort as she blinked back more frightened tears, Sara struggled not to vomit all over his boots. She was so dizzy and she could feel a trickle of blood running down the back of her neck. He laughed again, louder this time, but it came out as little more than a humorless bark, like an angry attack dog. His eyes narrowed as he shoved her head to the side, stepping backwards to reach for an egg from the carton once more. 

“Heh. I’ll take that as a “yes.” Sooo…let’s try this again, _ja?”_

He tapped the crowbar against the floor near her broken ankle in a steady rhythm, easily distracting her as he cracked the first shell over the knife wound on her upper left arm.

“ _Ich bin gespannt, wie lange Sie noch atmen können.”_

XXII. _…Und Keine Eier_

As the gooey contents of the eggshell oozed down her arm and the sunny yellow yolk hit the floor with a wet plop, Sara just sort of allowed herself to space out. The wound became slightly itchy, burning a bit as the slimy substance seeped into her skin, but she otherwise suffered no adverse reaction. Strade sat cross-legged on the floor directly in front of her with the crowbar in his lap, the open carton of eggs at his side. He observed her with an earnest excitement that she would have actually found quite charming if she didn’t know he was hoping to see her face turn purplish-red as her tongue and throat swelled up like a balloon. Despite enduring multiple head injuries of varying severity, she had the wherewithal to not disclose to him that she would only have a serious issue if she actually ingested the egg. Withholding this information might buy her a little bit of time but Strade would figure it out eventually, and judging by his faltering smile as impatience crept in, that would be sooner rather than later.

“Hm. Nothing yet, huh? Maybe just one more, _ja?_ …”

He hastily scooped up another egg from the carton and smashed it into the middle of her chest, grounding the sticky liquid and jagged egg shell pieces into her cleavage with the heel of his hand and wiped it down her stomach. Giggling as the yolk ran down her torso and in between her legs, he noticed her stiffen visibly and wondered if perhaps it was starting to affect her, after all. In reality, she was just tensing up at how slimy and gross the raw egg felt on her bare flesh. Sara thought briefly about faking a reaction in hopes that maybe he would stop there and move on to something else, but she somehow knew that would only egg (lol) him on even more. 

“Alriiight _…_ open wide!”, Strade coaxed her, holding a third egg over her face and trying to force his finger through the thin line of her tightly sealed lips. There was still a smidgen of yolk on his gloved fingertip so even if she so much as stuck out her tongue, she would leave herself open to having an allergic reaction.

_“Hier kommt das Flugzeug!~”,_ he teased, playfully waving the egg around her mouth as if he was feeding a stubborn toddler. Naturally she refused, simply opting to turn her nose up at him defiantly. She may have been crazy enough to agree to a hookup with this monster, but she wasn’t stupid to the point that she was just going to let him literally poison her to death. 

Strade blew a puff of air out the side of his mouth, clearly getting annoyed with her. 

“Aw, c’mon… _please?_ I bought these just for you, y’know…”, he whined, sticking out his lower lip in a fake-pouty expression.

Sara remained steadfast, daring to shoot a haughty glare at him from under her lashes which he then returned tenfold while growling under his breath. She couldn’t deny that she was getting a bit of a rush from seeing how frustrated she was making him, and he was honestly sort of cute when he was genuinely pissed off. A faint flush of color warmed his cheeks and his hands shook slightly as he reached up and grabbed her chin to pry her jaw open. 

_“Du kleiner Scheißer…”_

Before she knew it, the curved end of the crow bar was hooked into the corner of her mouth, pulling painfully at her cheek and exposing her teeth. A thin string of saliva dripped down her chin and she was horrified and repulsed when he leaned in and licked it off, biting down hard enough on her lower lip to draw blood for good measure. She made a tiny sound of discomfort as he tapped his fingernail on her front teeth, like knocking on a door.

“Open. Your mouth. Before I _make_ you. Maybe I should just rip half of that pretty face off your skull right now…and then bash your teeth right down your throat.”

Strade emphasized the threat by stretching her cheek out a little further with the crowbar, caressing the other side of her face as he began to breathe heavily against her clenched teeth. She felt the tremor in his hands radiate outwards to the rest of his body, a tell-tale sign that he was starting to get flustered in a different kind of way.

“haha…mmmnn~…would you like that…?”

His angry tone seamlessly melted down to a low purr, so deep and alluring that Sara honestly started to question whether or not she should nod her head in affirmation. However, she didn’t have much time to think about it before Strade produced a large bowie knife from the holster on his belt. It hovered in front of her face for a moment as he turned it back and forth to catch the light before thrusting the blade into the small hollow in the corner of her stretched-out mouth, stabbing right through her cheek.

Immediately, her face was on fire, and immediately, her teeth parted and her throat let loose an earsplitting scream that caused Strade to shiver and bite his tongue between his teeth with delight. He unhooked the crowbar from her lip, discarding it carelessly onto the floor with a metallic clatter. Then with the knife still impaling her cheek, he pushed her head back and impulsively crushed an egg in his fist directly over her gaping, upturned mouth. Raw egg drizzled all over her tongue and gums on its way down her gullet and as she felt the first tingling sensation of her immune system going into overdrive, he tore the knife from her face and held it to her throat instead, slapping his leather-clad palm over her mouth to prevent her from spitting anything out.

_“Schluck es!”,_ Strade snarled in her ear, pressing himself against her with frightening aggression. All she could manage through her paralyzing terror was a strangled _“Mmmgh?!”_ which only caused fresh blood to bubble out of the new hole in her face. He responded by pressing the knife further against her steadily tightening windpipe, just barely breaking the skin, and that’s when it occurred to her he might end up slitting her jugular if she failed to swallow the egg sloshing around in her blood-filled mouth.

She did as she was told to the best of her ability, making the split-second decision to give in to his sadistic whims on the basis that she was pretty much fucked no matter what. If the heavy-lidded, glazed over look in his eye as he leaned back to slowly look her up and down was any indication, that could be taken in two very different ways. She tried to cry out, gagging on a disgusting mix of egg yolk, blood, and saliva as her airways narrowed to the size of a drinking straw.

“Oh, sh-shit…I can’t…hah… _breathe!”,_ she gasped, writhing desperately in her bonds as Strade started to pant heavily along with her with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He shakily peeled off one of his gloves, his eyes widening and his pupils expanding as he leaned in and stuck two fingers into the gore-laden orifice he had stabbed into her cheek. Tears poured down her face as he fingered the wound, sliding in and out suggestively and fondling her teeth and swelling tongue while he was inside. 

_“Ohhh_ …I’m _sooo_ sorry…Is the food not to your liking, _mein haschen?”_

Strade did not sound apologetic in the least. He was practically moaning as he added a third finger to the mix, fiercely dry-humping her badly injured leg with increasing ardor.

“I….hhhh…I’m _a-allergic_ …you…hah… _asshole!!!”,_ she spat at him furiously, spraying his sweaty face with droplets of blood that matched the hot flush in his cheeks.

“Oh, _ja_ …that’s riiight, haha…hm,hm, _hmmm_ …!~ You _did_ mention something about that, eh?”

He reluctantly dragged himself off of her lap and got to his feet. Her sight was beginning to grow spotty and her head was feeling light and floaty from being deprived of oxygen. His voice rang out like daggers in her ears, still breathy and urgent with unslaked lust.

_“Tja…Lass mich dir helfen, Süße!”_

Sara wasn’t even able to see it coming when the crowbar came flying at her head to plow into her jaw at breakneck speed, completely demolishing her mandible and dislocating the entire bottom half of her face. Perhaps that was for the best. A generous helping of blood was ejected from her mouth on impact as her head was violently rocked to the side. Several of her teeth were either broken or dislodged, a couple of which dropped out of her slackened mouth along with some blood to splatter on the floor. By this point, her ruined profile was nearly unrecognizable.

Grinning and humming cheerily with satisfaction at the mess he had made of her face, Strade swiped his one bare hand through the blood coating the end of the crowbar and proceeded to lick it off his fingers one by one like it was a tasty dipping sauce.

“Mmm…!~…hmhmhahhaha….”, he chuckled to himself for a couple more seconds before realizing with genuine disappointment that Sara was beginning to lose consciousness. Other than the faint gurgling sound coming from her bloody train wreck of a mouth, there were no signs of life in her limp, battered frame.

“Hey, don’t pass out on me! I’m getting to it…Just can’t, ah…help myself sometimes is all.”, he explained to her mostly deaf ears in an unhurried conversational tone. He shrugged his shoulders and caught the hooked end of the crowbar back in her mouth, this time through the front, right behind her bottom teeth. 

“Ready, Sara?”

Her eyes widened as she finally registered the cold, rusty steel under her engorged tongue, as well as his sickeningly innocent delivery of those two simple words. Exactly the way he had said them when she first spotted him on her living room couch what seemed like either mere minutes or an eternity ago. The last thing that flashed through her delirious, panicked mind right before Strade wrenched her destroyed lower jaw from her face, ripping her throat out most of the way down to her chest like a grotesque, fleshy banana peel…was him.

The first time she happened upon one of B3G_CRY’s red room torture streams was at a friend’s house back when she was still in high school. Her friend was a bit older and had already been experimenting with exploring the deep web for a couple of months. He wanted to impress Sara with his newfound technical knowledge and so he pulled up a random livestream to show her how messed up some of that shit could be. 

Neither of them ever expected to see what they saw that day. 

For him, it was an utter nightmare. The only reason he didn’t throw his entire computer out the window upon hearing the first bloodcurdling scream that rattled his speakers was the fact that for Sara, it seemed to be an awakening of sorts. Her eyes lit up as she leaned towards the screen, beyond fascinated by the carnage and atrocity on full display. Initially, she had made up her mind that this would be a one-time only deal. She would eat her fill of this nasty business and then forget it ever happened…that is, until the camera zoomed out. Up to this point, only the victim could be seen, tied naked to a chair with duct tape, but as soon as she laid eyes on B3G_CRY himself, she knew she was hooked. Granted, she couldn’t see his face except for his eyes, but the way this terrifying figure seduced the camera with that soul-piercing amber stare of his…well, she could have sworn he was looking right at her. 

As her thoughts and memories began to evaporate into nothingness and everything faded to black, Sara barely felt it as the man of her dreams grabbed the sides of what was left of her face and rammed his achingly hard cock into the grotesque, gaping maw that used to be her throat with a groan of pure ecstasy. Strade soon went off the rails completely, quickly losing control as he viciously fucked into the raw, exposed meat of her esophagus at a sporadic, wild pace. His pelvis slapped wetly against the viscous blood and gore pouring down to her chest, and pretty soon the entire front of his torso was soaked in it too, rendering him a sloppy, crimson mess.

“Hahh… _Du bist so ein…schmutziges…kleines…Mädchen!”,_ he growled out between thrusts, still regaling the dead body he was desecrating with indulgent dirty talk as if it were still very much alive to enjoy being so brutally violated. 

_“Ach,_ _fffick-ficken_ …your throat is s-so _tight!_ …hahh, that’s it…take it _ah-hah-haaallll…mm-mmghh!!!”_

He snapped his hips forward one last time, throwing one hand up against the wooden support beam and groping the corpse’s breast with his other, his whole body shuddering violently as he tossed his head back and came so hard that it made him somewhat dizzy.

Collapsing to his knees against the beam with a loud, shaky exhalation, Strade was breathing hard and heavy against the dead girl’s shoulder as his head slowly but surely began to clear. He tenderly stroked her hair for a minute as he steadied himself, then wobbled awkwardly to his feet to tuck himself back into his pants and pick up his knife off the floor. As he wiped the blade off on one of the few cleaner spots still left on his cargo pants, he lazily surveyed the damage. 

Sara had been reduced to nothing but a macabre, gore-ridden specter, truly a horrific sight to behold. Her own mother probably wouldn’t have even believed it was her vivacious, bubbly only daughter if Strade hand delivered the family a copy of the death certificate. There was coagulating blood, rich and tacky all over the floor in a dark ring around her that unfurled like petals from a rose, as well as thick, white ropes of semen leaking out of the obviously-shaped hole in her ravaged esophagus, courtesy of the man of the hour himself. Pushing his filthy hair out of his eyes with his knuckles, he glanced down at his sweaty, bloodstained clothes, then back up at the corpse. Her lifeless eyes were still wide open and staring back at him almost accusingly, but he merely grinned and snorted laughter as if she had just cracked an amusing joke.

“Well, _Scheiße…”,_ he muttered to himself, debating whether or not he should go upstairs and drag Y/N out of bed to give him a hand.

“This is gonna be fun to clean up!”

XXIII. Proof of Ownership

“So, uh…how’re you liking _Lolli Pop-Star Magic Princess (in Space)?”_ Ren asked Y/N excitedly as he poured himself a bowl of overly sugary cereal. She yawned into her hand and passed him the milk, trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

“Oh…sorry, Ren. I actually wasn’t able to get too far into it last night…”, she admitted, slowly stirring honey into her morning cup of herbal tea. She glanced up in time to catch him eyeing her suspiciously and she tugged at the sleeve of her oversized button-down to cover the obvious bruise on her inner wrist. It was almost as if she could still feel Strade’s fingertips digging into her skin as he forced her hands over her head the night before, still see his teeth shining with spit and blood in the moonlight as he grinned down at her so lecherously.

“I take it he came home earlier than you expected.”, Ren stated, matter of factly. He didn’t even really have to frame it as a question when he already knew the answer. Y/N stared dreamily into her swirling tea, marveling to herself how remarkably similar the rich golden liquid was to the color of the eyes she couldn’t get out of her mind no matter how hard she tried, taking no notice of the subtle visual cue of Ren’s ears abruptly standing at attention.

“Up and about already, _liebling?_ I thought for sure you would still be asleep!”

Strade’s voice was as bright and clear as the fine weather on this late-summer morning, ringing out from behind her with the kind of profound satisfaction she usually could only hear after he had gotten a little too well-acquainted with somebody’s insides. (Feel free to interpret that as you will.)

Startled into silence, she only managed a shy smile when he passed by, tracing a single finger along the back of her hand as it rested on the table next to her tea mug. He placed the carton full of the remaining eggs on the kitchen table, chuckling when Ren made a face at the splashes of red dotting the surface of the white cardboard lid.

“Why don’tcha whip us up a batch of scrambled eggs, _ja?_ While I go hop in the shower.” He gestured to the front of his shirt, completely drenched in blood along with much of his pants. The metallic smell of it was unmistakable. Ren nodded obediently and used his napkin to pick up the eggs with, carefully carrying them to the counter to start cooking and looking a little put out that his unfinished cereal was going to get soggy.

Y/N gasped with pain, nearly spilling her steaming hot tea all over her lap when Strade nonchalantly jabbed a dirty fingernail into the laceration above her knuckles that he inflicted on her a week ago, just another leftover scar to remind her of the time they spent together in their trashy motel room.

“That’s healing a bit too nicely, I think…”, he mused to seemingly nobody in particular before holding her hand gently in his own. She hastily tried sipping her tea, grasping for an excuse not to answer him yet. He was leaning down so close to her face that she had to hold the rim of her cup in her teeth to resist the urge to turn her head and kiss him, curious about whose blood she would taste on his mouth. A shiver rolled its way up her back as he sighed next to her ear, warm and deep with contentment. Lucky for her, he was apparently in too good of a mood to be annoyed at her reluctance to converse.

“Before I go, I got a little something for _mein schatz._ Close your eyes.”

She felt her palm being flipped to face upward with unexpected force before something small and…wet was pressed into the center. When he gave her the OK, she didn’t see anything but a splatter of blood in her hand, but on closer inspection she could make out the circular shape of a simply, dainty ring inlaid with a tiny white pearl. She wiped it clean on the frayed bottom of Strade’s old shirt, simply adding to the numerous stains on her favorite hand-me-down, and held it up to the light. After squinting at the inscription on the inside of the band, she nearly choked when she saw that it was genuine fourteen karat gold. 

“Strade, I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you, it’s…it’s lovely!”

He beamed down at her happily, ruffling her hair as she tried it on. It was a bit too big for her ring finger, but seemed to fit her index perfectly.

“Don’t mention it, _Kätzchen…_ and look, they match!”, he commented with a little flick to the bell on her collar.

“Yeah, they do…but where did you get this from?”, she asked him cautiously, admiring the delicate piece of jewelry like a woman who’d just been proposed to. Of course she knew whose cold dead finger he had pried it off of, but she wanted to hear him say it anyway. She looked up at him innocently, only to see him grin with a mischievous look in his eye. _Like the cat that ate the canary,_ she thought to herself, blithely amused.

“I found it.”

Strade sounded like he didn’t even believe himself and she almost laughed out loud at the gratuitous lie. She may not have had the faintest idea of how gruesome Sara’s fate had been, but all she cared about was the fact that the threat of competition had been eliminated, that she had him all to herself once more…at least until he brought the _next_ unsuspecting victim home.

“I see…”, she started to say, drawing out that thought while she searched for the right way to word her appreciation for such an unexpectedly luxuriant gift. 

“Isn’t it worth a lot of money, though? I’m not sure I deserve something so expensive…”, she said sheepishly, playing up the self-deprecation angle to make herself sound weak and pathetic. The way Strade liked her to be…or so she thought.

Y/N bit back a soft moan when his hand flew up to her throat and squeezed lightly, pushing her against the back of her chair and tilting her head back to look up at him. His filthy hair hung over his eyes and he was still smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“There you go, second-guessing me again, you naughty girl…”

“I’m sorry, S—“

“Shh…I’m only gonna tell you this once, _Y/N.”_

She could feel him gradually applying more pressure, frozen with fear at the sound of her name on his lips. It had become increasingly uncommon for him to address her by anything but German pet names or terms of endearment. _Haustier, schatzi, liebling…_ anything besides Y/N. Unless he was deadly serious.

His breath was hot and coppery as it tickled the corner of her mouth.

“If I didn’t think you were deserving of wearing that ring…I can assure you that you wouldn’t even be sitting here with me right now. Your severed limbs…your entrails…even your _bones,_ would all be burning up into a heap of ashes right along with our dear Sandra down there…Or was it _Sasha?_ Oh well, whatever…Is that _clear_ …?”

“Yes, Strade. I understand. Th-thank you!”, she stammered, sucking in a sharp breath as he harshly tilted her head to one side and brushed his lips against the sensitive area between her earlobe and her collar. She felt him smile against her skin, savoring her fear.

“Good. Question me one more time and you won’t be able to get out of bed for a whole _week_ … _Dafür werde ich sorgen.”_

His voice had gone from a cheery sing-song to a menacing whisper in no time flat, and he gave her neck a quick but aggressive bite to prove he wasn’t fucking around before affectionately patting her hand and strolling out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ren, who had clearly been eavesdropping the whole time, turned away from the stove with spatula in hand and eyebrows raised. 

“Um…what was _that_ all about?”

Y/N slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, closely followed by her hand.

“Strade gave me a ring.”, she stated simply, far too busy internally screaming “OH DEAR SWEET FUCKIN’ CHRIST I LOVE HIM HOLY SHIT” to even hear his own exclamation of surprise and disbelief. She could see his mouth moving but his words may as well have been nothing but white noise.

“Excuse me, he _what?!?”_

Needless to say…the scrambled eggs ended up slightly burnt that morning. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> haustier - pet
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> Wie bezaubernd ist das hier? - How adorable is that?
> 
> Ich hätte es wissen müssen - I should have known.
> 
> schatzi - sweetheart
> 
> hase - rabbit
> 
> Ich bin gespannt, wie lange Sie noch atmen können. - I am curious how much longer you can keep breathing.
> 
> ...Und Keine Eier - ...And No Eggs (Tool song reference lol)
> 
> Hier kommt das Flugzeug! - Here comes the plane!
> 
> Du kleiner Scheißer - You little shit
> 
> Schluck es! - Swallow it!
> 
> mein haschen - my little bunny
> 
> Tja…Lass mich dir helfen, Süße! - Well...let me help you, sweetie!
> 
> Du bist so ein…schmutziges…kleines…Mädchen! - You are such a...dirty...little...girl!
> 
> Ach, fffick-ficken - Oh, fff-fuck
> 
> mein schatz - my treasure
> 
> Kätzchen - Kitten
> 
> Dafür werde ich sorgen. - I'll make sure of that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time after the end of the previous chapter, Strade and Y/N share a "moment" together on a chilly winter's night.
> 
> Things are...different, somehow. That's all I'll say.
> 
> <3

XXIV. Domestic Bliss

The seasons passed…and so did murder after murder. She may not have believed such a thing was possible, but Y/N found herself falling even deeper into Strade’s twisted, beautiful chokehold, a purgatory of cold hard pain and mind-numbing pleasure from which there was no reprieve. None that she would _want,_ anyway.

With the help of his guiding hand, or rather his persuasive _knife,_ she continued to work for him, kill for him, and on the rare occasions where he would take her out for the night, even lured new victims for him. These so-called “dates” usually consisted of dressing up in various disguises from Ren’s cosplay closet and sitting in a booth at Strade’s favorite pub, The Braying Mule. She would silently people-watch or doodle on the paper placemat until he got piss drunk enough on their infamously cheap beer to drag her into the single-occupancy bathroom and rail her up against the dirty tiles next to the toilet. He was just so _romantic_ that way. 

Afterwards, he’d stumble out with his shirt partially untucked and traces of her lipstick still smeared across his mouth to grab just one more pint while she picked out a prospective target for either one of them to craft some flimsy excuse to take into the alley out back. Despite the folksy small-town clientele the Mule typically attracted, sometimes there would be someone adventurous enough to go home with them willingly instead of being knocked out cold and unceremoniously crammed into the trunk of Strade’s car. Either way, it always ended up being just the two of them at the end of the night, rolling around on top of a badly mutilated corpse while a puddle of blood and depending on how much Strade had to drink, vomit spread out from underneath them. 

Again, he was quite the charmer.

No matter how much she tried to tell herself that she had gotten used to it, every time Y/N witnessed the light leave some poor soul’s eyes while he watched from the sidelines, licking his chops and tending to himself with long, languid strokes up and down his thick shaft…she _would_ feel nagging pangs of regret. Faint and far off, yet still there…but when it was all over and the screams were nothing but echoes in her ears, he would always be there waiting with that weirdly proud smile and strong, open arms,to make her forget what she had just done.

In time, he even began to have his selective moments when he was more gentle with her than usual. Maybe even somewhat _considerate_ , however sporadic that may have been. Touching her without feeling the overwhelming need to add to the number of marks on her heavily scarred-up skin, taking it slow to allow her time to adjust to his formidable size…and even, if he was in exactly the right mood, telling her how pretty she was, how special. Granted, “pretty” wasn’t really his first choice of words, oftentimes preferring _“köstlich”_ or _“zerbrechlich”…_ but to Strade they may as well have meant the same thing. 

He might not have considered it as such, but he had many ways of showing he cared for his pets without ever actually verbally expressing it. In Ren’s mind, this meant that he only had to deal with the ominous sense of foreboding that he would experience some kind of pain during his waking hours instead of outright fearing for his life every single day. According to Y/N, however…well…at this point, they were a couple. 

Nothing could convince her otherwise. Not even when he cut her up just to watch her bleed, or ground the heel of his boot into her wounds just to listen to her cry.

XXV. Oh, the Weather Outside is Frightful…

One snowy winter’s night, she lay curled up on her side in Strade’s bed, completely bare-skinned apart from her shock collar. Though she had proven time and time again that she would never try to escape, he still made her wear it often simply because he liked the way it looked on her, seeing it as nothing more than mere adornment used to decorate his property. To _personalize_ her, much like the dead girl’s pearl ring on her finger whose name he had forgotten a long time ago.

Despite the cold temperatures, the house was warm and cozy enough for her to be content with only a light sheet covering her legs, the curve of her hip visible in the soft, silvery glow of the moonbeam streaming through the blinds as she patiently awaited Strade’s return. He was busy downstairs with some timid, young thing that he had picked up at the bar the previous evening, new in town after moving cross-country to attend college. 

Since Y/N was currently recovering from a rather nasty cold, he had instructed her to stay upstairs in bed instead of assisting him in the shop as she normally did. He could be surprisingly protective and stern when it came to one of his pets getting sick. Of course, being close friends with a self-proclaimed “doctor” afforded him access to highly effective, albeit questionably-sourced medications and he even summoned enough effort to microwave some canned chicken noodle soup for her…even though he hardly ever cooked anything that didn’t previously have a pulse.

Taking extra good care of her for now seemed worth the trouble because when she was coughing and sniffling and flushed with fever, it truthfully started to worry him. Made him feel sort of _powerless,_ which was an…emotion?…that he wasn’t terribly familiar with and also never wanted to feel again for any reason. It’s not like he could drive her to the ER or casually call an ambulance if the situation became really dire. The questions from the paramedics alone would be a trip. 

“Why, no sir!~ I have no _idea_ how she got those huge scars on her thigh! Maybe she fell down the basement stairs? And no, you _can’t_ go down there to see…”

The very idea was hilarious at best.

And so, at his firm insistence, here she stayed. Y/N feigned sleep as best she could, but inside her chest tightened and her insides roiled with heat unrelated to her illness. She could hear his footsteps in the hallway, heavy and deliberate even without the added weight of a pair of steel-toed boots. Forcing her eyes to remain closed, she tried to steady her breath as she pictured him coming for her in her mind’s eye. She could practically smell the drying blood that would be all over his face, clinging to the scruff on his jaw and absorbed into his shirt. His hands would be clean if he had worn gloves, and she gently bit her lip just thinking about his deft fingers undoing the buttons all down his front, as well as the diamond-shaped buckle on his belt. There was a sudden thump as his discarded, bloody clothes hit the hardwood floor. As he drew closer. And closer.

She imagined a voracious grin curving up one side of his twitching upper lip, just a hint of his canines peeking out in the dark, slick and sharp. And his eyes, the color of caramel, of honey as sweet and alluring as the deep growl of his voice when he finally opened the bedroom door. She tried to fool him, but Strade already knew she was still awake.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, _liebling.~”_

His tone was surprisingly mild but it was still unmistakably an order, a command she could easily follow because she had been waiting for him what felt like all night. She greeted him with a happy sigh as he slipped under the covers behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her middle and pressing close enough against her bare back for her to notice how aroused he already was. 

“Wow, you weren’t down there for that long. Are they…?”

Y/N trailed off, speaking cautiously with the knowledge that if a new captive died too early in the game, Strade would most likely take out his frustrations on her. Not that she minded much, but because she had just barely gotten over a cold she would have preferred just falling asleep in his arms for tonight.

“Nah…they’re still kickin’, believe it or not! I decided to behave myself, save some for tomorrow, y’know?”, he chuckled, giving her waist a playful squeeze. His warm lips touched her neck above the collar, causing her to nearly cry out at his seductive purr and hot breath in her ear as he announced his true intentions.

“Besides, I figured I could always play a little rough with _you_ instead…”

“B-but…”, she protested, wriggling uselessly against him while he held her in place with ease. She might as well have been nothing but a doll. A paper one, even.

“Aw…but _whaaat?_ Aren’t you feeling better? I overheard you telling Ren this afternoon that the cough medicine I gave you had worked wonders, _ja?”,_ he teased her, licking a wet stripe from the back of her neck to just behind her ear. 

“It did…I-I am.”, she admitted quietly, shivering at the feel of his tongue pressing into her flesh, raising goosebumps on her skin despite the comforting warmth of his body next to hers.

_“Good.”,_ Strade said simply and sank his teeth deep into the halfway point between her shoulder and neck, breaking the skin in addition to her voice as she screamed long and loud. He hadn’t bitten her for a while, especially not in a place _this_ sensitive, so the pain was immediately bright and exquisite as blood trickled down in thin streams from the divots created by his teeth. Licking the wound tenderly, he pawed at her chest, finger-painting her with her own blood and raking his dirty nails across her stomach, her thighs…even her arms, rubbing them up and down like he was trying to warm her up.

She screamed again, this time with a tinge of hunger, eager for more of his greedy touch. The tempting flavors of fear and excitement in her voice made his muscles tense up as an animalistic groan escaped through his clenched teeth. His desire to make those screams even more loud and desperate was growing by the second, and he clawed down her back before settling on her hips, unable to hold off any longer. With no warning or time given to prepare her for what was coming, he rammed inside of her from behind, smirking to himself when he very predictably got his wish.

“Stra—AH! …oh my _…fuck.”_

He always knew how to fill her so deliciously, gradually setting a fast, harsh pace that had her head throbbing every time his pelvis smashed up against her ass. 

“Ahh..haha _hah_ …I dunno about _you…_ but this is exactly what _I_ needed!”

Before she could try to respond with any kind of coherence he seized a fistful of her hair, now long enough to cascade most of the way down to her tailbone, and used it as a leash to yank her head backwards so he could force his tongue down her throat. Her one hand that had not been pinned uncomfortably under her side, weakly reached up to touch his face as he slobbered into her open mouth. 

“Mmmnn…how do you like this, _Schätzchen?_ When I… _ **f**_ ** _uck!_** you… ** _nice!_** …and **_hard?!_** _"_ _,_ he hissed against her spit-coated lips after sloppily breaking the kiss with a gasping breath, emphasizing key words with three particularly forceful thrusts to illustrate his point.

“I-I…love it…so much…”, she mewled back at him, unable to do anything about the sticky drool running down her chin. After a brief moment’s thought she added, quiet enough that maybe he wouldn’t notice; “I love… _y-you,_ Strade…”

However, even after untold years, or possibly decades, of ear-piercing screams and the various buzzes and whines of heavy-duty power tools at close range, the man still had surprisingly sharp hearing.

“Oh, _liebe…_ ”, he practically moaned into her ear, gripping her ass with fingers curled in like talons. 

“You should know better than to say things like that…when I’m already like _this…”_

His voice was beginning to waver, betraying an impending loss of control and he roughly cupped one of her breasts, pinching and twisting the nipple between two fingers with enough pressure to elicit from her an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak.

“It gets me too excited…turns me on a little too much…know what I mean?”

Strade continued on breathlessly, drawing back and slamming into her again with unnecessary force as he lifted her leg up high with a firm grip on the back of her knee.

“It won’t always go so well for you, _mein maus…_ so you should watch your **_mouth!”_**

If he penetrated her any deeper, Y/N swore she was going to feel his cock in her fucking _stomach._ She tried to make some kind of noise of affirmation but Strade swiftly devoured her voice, using his forearm to push her head into the pillows by her throat. Their tongues entwined and a possessive growl rumbled up from deep in his chest before he pulled back to gnaw viciously on her bottom lip, moving faster and faster the harder he fucked her. Soon enough he was on top, easily slinging both of her legs over his shoulders to effectively fold her in half, while continuing to ravage her petite frame with increasingly ruthless ardor. 

He balanced on one elbow, gazing down at her and admiring the look of lightheaded bliss on her cute little face. He let slip a slightly deranged peal of laughter as he reveled in the fact that he was in total control of her breath, allowing her only enough air to prevent her from passing out. Indeed, the restricted amount of oxygen only served to amplify the already maddening waves of pleasure wracking her entire body, the proof being that they could both feel how dripping wet she still was as he continued to pile-drive in and out of her tight cunt like there was no tomorrow.

“Hahhh…ahh…you look so…perfect, right now… _meine geliebte…so….schwach…für mich…",_ he panted heavily, his husky voice elevating in volume and becoming more shaky as he recognized the tell-tale signs that they were both approaching their respective climax. If the fact that she already felt _this_ good was any indication, it would be like plowing into a brick wall at maximum speed.

Leaning back down to her face, he lapped at the split skin of her lip, tasting the blood from where he had bitten her.

_“Du bist ganz mein…zu ruinieren…”_

Y/N caught him off guard sometimes when she showed understanding of one or two German words, this time being even more of a shock since they were otherwise so preoccupied at that moment.

“All…yours…”, she whimpered meekly, digging her heels into his back to keep him close and curling her toes inward involuntarily. The combination of these sensations apparently proved to be too much for Strade and he responded by removing his arm from her throat, instead embracing her thighs in a death-grip as he snarled into her neck and pressed his lips against the pulse point below her ear. Simply being able to feel the hot, fresh blood pumping wildly through that tantalizingly vital artery was enough to make him salivate even more than he already was.

“A—Ahh…oh, _ja…_ mmhmhmm _hmn…_ that’s right… _m-mein haus…tier…”_

She called out for him over and over, becoming more unintelligible with each time she begged him to never, ever stop doing whatever he was doing that made her feel like she was going to spontaneously combust.

“Don’t worry, _liebling…”,_ Strade assured her with a voice that was low and strained, trying to sound more controlled than he honestly felt as he came closer. So…so close, now… He squeezed his eyes shut and sharpened his last handful of thrusts, hiss-whispering under his breath while Y/N veritably shrieked with unhinged delight as they both went full-on careening over the edge together.

_“Ich weiss…ahhah.…wie sehr du das brauchst…mmnngh—!”_

Embedding his fingernails into her quivering legs with enough force to make his hands tremble and reopen old wounds from previous “play-times”, he arched his back and growled like some kind of rabid animal, just barely staving off the sudden impulse to scoop out her eyeball with his fingers and suck on it like candy until it burst into a gelatinous mess inside of his mouth. Peculiar thoughts to be having at a time like this, even for Strade. He wondered vaguely how long he would be able to ignore such urges in the future…because it was getting increasingly difficult to find alternative methods of taming that beast within.

XXVI. In the Afterglow

Minutes later, Y/N rested her head drowsily on Strade’s shoulder while he mindlessly scrolled on his new smart-phone. Since his fateful interactions with a certain crazy fangirl, he had taken a strange liking to browsing social media from time to time during otherwise boring or quiet moments, such as coming down from the intoxicating high of some really satisfying sex. It frankly amused him to no end, seeing the inner workings of people’s minds as they spouted the most inane drivel into the void that they would probably never say to one another’s faces. He liked to daydream about all of the fun things he could do to get them to share even more of themselves with him, breaking them down piece by piece until they no longer resembled the overly-filtered selfies in their profile pictures.

On the other hand, Y/N languished in her own little world, snuggling closer to Strade as a sleepy smile graced her face and she closed her eyes against the bright light coming from his screen. She adored the heady, masculine scent of his sweat and the ever-present underlying tang of blood on his skin and she hummed contentedly as she draped her leg over his beneath the sheets. His rough, yet warm hand nestled so nonchalantly in the crease where her leg met her torso was like a security blanket, lulling her into a sense of serenity that made her feel more at home than she ever did back at the run-down apartment she used to share with her roommate.

However, she wasn’t quite ready to truly rest. Not just yet.

“Hey, Strade…? Can I ask you a question?”

There was a pause as his thumb ceased its repetitive swipe-up motion.

“Sure! Ask away.”

“OK, but…promise you won’t get mad?”

He scoffed at that, snorting laughter at a funny meme he didn’t fully understand as well as her assumption that his jimmies could be so easily rustled.

“Mad? _Hah!_ What could _mein schatz_ possibly say that could make me upset, huh?”

There was a slight edge to his seemingly facetious tone that made it sound like a challenge.

“Well, it’s just that…I’ve been here for a long time now, and…”

_“Ja,_ it has been awhile, hasn’t it? About a year?”

“…And a half.”

The light was extinguished as he put his phone on the bedside table, pulling her down with the comforter over their heads.

“Ah…time passes so quickly, doesn’t it? When you’re enjoying yourself!”

He drew her closer, leaning in to give her earlobe a playful nibble as he lowered his voice, making her squirm against him.

“And we have been enjoying ourselves quite…a _lot…”_

Y/N squeaked, giggling a bit when he started intentionally tickling her waist.

“Ah! S-stop! Yeah…haha…we have, but…I was wondering something just now…”

It was, in fact, something she had been wondering for far longer, maybe even since before that pivotal moment when he bent her over the table saw and she was forced to come to terms with her own painfully confusing feelings.

“What…are we, exactly? Like, what _am_ I to you?”

Almost immediately, he stiffened, fingertips digging into her ribcage with bone-bruising force even as his tone remained relatively lighthearted.

“What are you talking about?”

She knew she had to spit it out fast, because if she knew one thing about this wonderful, infuriating monster of a man, it was that he absolutely loathed being made to wait for literally _anything._

_“_ Do you…”, she hesitantly began, forcing herself to drag the words out of her mouth, kicking and screaming. 

“…um….l-love me?” Y/N flinched and lowered her head as his grasp on her sides tightened further, fully expecting to hear a crack as her bones splintered in his unforgiving hands. It never came.

“… _That’s_ your question?” Oh, shit. Now he was starting to sound annoyed.

She nodded in the dark, hiding her furiously blushing face in his chest. This was always _such_ a bad idea, and she honestly didn’t know why she thought tonight would be any different. 

“Mmhmm…I’m sorry, Strade. I know you don’t like talking about stuff like this but, I just…really need to know. Please.”

Again, she anticipated pain. Anger. Maybe even a slap across her smart-mouthed little face for being so damned presumptuous. Instead, he breathed out an exasperated sigh and kissed the top of her head.

“Oh, _Herzchen…_ This again? Tell me, now…Do I not take good care of you? Feed you well? Nurse your wounds?… _Please_ you every night?”

He seemed almost…hurt, but there was a thin layer of sarcasm under the surface that had her wary.

“O-of course, but…”

He cut her off, continuing to list the benefits that came with being the personal plaything of an unpredictably violent (but wealthy!) psychopath. 

“…And I buy you everything you could ever want or need, _ja?_ Let you sleep in my bed? Keep you warm?”

“Yes, Strade…” She was beginning to see his point.

“And do I, or do I not treat you like the spoiled little _Kätzchen_ you are?”

“Uh-huh…you do.”

Suddenly his fingers came up to grab her chin, tilting her head back to meet the glint in his yellow-orange eyes. They just barely glowed under the cover of the blanket fort they had made of the sheets, reminding her of a cat stalking a mouse in the shadows after everyone had gone to bed.

“Then you have your answer! I rest. My _case.”_

He finished this tirade with a decisive finality that came off like a warning that this particular topic of discussion would be off the table until further notice. Then his voice softened as he reached his hand back to lazily twirl a lock of her hair around his fingers.

“Remember what I told you a long time ago? If I _didn’t_ …you wouldn’t have the breath in your lungs to ask me such silly, little questions. I would have just… _mm~_ …choked the life out of you the second you started _grating_ on my nerves. Or maybe…”

He trailed off wistfully, kind enough to spare her his sickest fantasies, but he tugged roughly at her scalp to show her who was in charge anyway. Nevertheless, she was relieved to hear that familiar care-free smile returning to his voice. Music to her ears.

_“Du hast Glück, dass du so süß bist! <3”_

“Hm?”

As much as she loved when he spoke to her in his native language, it could be frustrating to not be able to understand what he was trying to say. He usually chose to just play ignorant about the whole thing, merely sitting back and basking in how adorably confused and flustered she would get as she attempted to answer him accordingly.

“Haha…Make sense?” He said this with the smug, patronizing air of an older kid addressing a little girl who hadn’t yet learned how to tie her shoes. She suddenly felt very small and weak but managed to reply that it did make sense, of course. No point in arguing with a man who, by his own admission, could just as easily win by simply crushing her windpipe with a single hand, thereby taking away her very ability to keep blurting out every stupid thought that cropped up in her head. 

And besides, she noted, Strade hadn’t even pulled a knife on her since he walked into the room, not even once. The privilege of being able to drift off for the night due to actually being tired as opposed to blood-loss was the _real_ victory in her book.

XXVII. Restless

The next time she opened her eyes, Y/N could tell it was morning even though it was still dark. Strade was already up, knocking around noisily in his dresser drawers for some clean clothes to throw on. She could see his well-muscled back in the dim glow of the streetlights outside the window, covered in slightly raised lines that zig-zagged their way all over his tawny skin. 

“You have so many scars…”, she observed with a hint of concern, and he turned towards her, quirking an eyebrow as a slow smile crossed his unbearably handsome features. 

“Just like you, _ja?”,_ he teased her with a wink, and turned the coverlet down to expose her legs. She instinctively drew her knees up to preserve the lost warmth, shivering as he ran a hand along the healed-over marks on her thigh with a rough touch. 

“Wh-Where you goin’, Strade? It’s still so early…”, she pleaded with him, holding her arms out to coax him back to bed. 

“Just down to the shop, to check on the new, ah… _addition._ Wanna make sure they made it through the night! They, um…well, they needed quite a few stitches.”, Strade patiently explained as he buttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

“Can I come?” Her question was so innocent and sweet, he had to catch himself before he said _“Ja.”_

“No need, _kleine._ I’ll only be a few minutes…In, out, and done!”

She made as if she was about to get up but he was too quick, pushing her back down on the bed by her shoulder then using the same hand to affectionately caress her face as he took a seat at the edge.

“Aw…but I’ll miss you though…”, she protested, yet her eyelids were already beginning to grow heavy at the sensation of his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheekbone.

“I know you will…but I need you to be a good girl for me and get some more rest, OK?” 

Strade pondered for a second as he tapped his bottom lip with his finger, then bent down closer, giving her a big, jovial grin that probably would have scared the shit out of anyone but her.

“Then maybe later…we can have some hot cocoa and watch a movie!~”

Her eyes lit up, tilting her head inquisitively.

“With whipped cream?”, she asked hopefully, her heart overflowing with love and adoration for this man who unbeknownst to her, probably fantasized about slitting her pretty throat and fucking the gushing wound fifty times a day. He chuckled, lightly brushing the pad of his thumb over her lower lip before slipping it into her mouth on a whim. She obediently began to suck on it, teasing him with her tongue and he reacted by growling low in his throat as he clutched at the sheets with his other hand. 

Make that fifty- _one._

_“_ Of course! Anything you want…How does that sound?”

He pulled back his thumb with an audible pop, letting her answer with more than just an enthusiastic nod.

“Yeah…sounds like fun!”

Her eyes widened considerably when he bent down to give her a peck on the cheek, unaccustomed to such a pure, untainted expression of affection from Strade. Usually he was all sloppy tongue and teeth in places where most people wouldn’t even want to be touched, let alone kissed. 

“Mmm…maybe after the movie’s over…we could try making one of our own, _ja?”,_ he laughed as he headed for the door. It was presented as a joke, but he was probably serious. Regardless, she would have filmed a thousand of the most depraved snuff films he had ever seen just to keep him there by her side.

“Anything you want…”, Y/N mimicked him shyly before he stepped out into the hall. He stole another quick glance over his shoulder before turning around to say something that ended up getting caught in his throat. Lying in his bed like that, she just looked so cute and vulnerable. His Y/N really _was_ like a kitten, totally dependent on her owner to know what was best for her. His hard stare softened the tiniest bit as he lingered in the doorway with his shoulder leaning on the frame. 

For maybe the first time in…well, _ever,_ she thought that she caught a glimpse of something that could be confused for…empathy? Nah. Couldn’t be. Perhaps instead, he was seeing her as another person instead of a pet? Or property? No to that too, who was she kidding! She was just exhausted, that’s all.

Strade was right. She really needed her rest.

“Go back to sleep now, _meine_ _liebling. Wir sehen uns bald…”,_ he promised her, reaching into his back pocket to hit the release button on her collar’s remote so that she could be a little more comfortable. Before she could thank him though, he had clicked the door shut behind him, leaving her alone with only the first rays of the rising sun and the neighbor’s dog barking across the street to keep her company.

“Strade…”, she whispered his name into the quiet just to hear the sound of it, andgazed out the window at the freshly fallen snow as the new day began. Sure enough, she was out like a light before his footsteps had faded out completely, dreaming of his smile…

…and his maniacal laughter as he gouged the blade of his knife into her flesh, spilling her blood all over him. Again and again and again.

XXVIII. Nightmare Shift

“Ugh…five more minutes, Strade…”, Y/N grumbled, shoving her head underneath her pillow to hide from the cheery winter sunshine as well as the hands on her shoulders attempting to shake her awake…but then she heard someone calling her name.

Those hands were far too small, too hesitant, topped with even tinier, sharp claws whose owner was careful not to scratch too harshly at her bare skin. One more insistent nudge and her eyes were wide open.

_“Y/N!_ Y/N, you gotta wake up…please. I need you right now.”

She peeked out from under the safety of the blankets, squinting hard as thesilhouette by the bed gradually came into focus. Pointed ears. Long, fluffy tail.

“…Ren?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> köstlich - delicious
> 
> zerbrechlich - breakable
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> Schätzchen - baby
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> mein maus - my mouse
> 
> meine geliebte - my beloved
> 
> so schwach für mich - so weak for me
> 
> Du bist ganz mein zu ruinieren. - You're all mine to ruin.
> 
> mein haustier - my pet
> 
> Ich weiss wie sehr du das brauchst. - I know how much you need this.
> 
> mein schatz - my treasure
> 
> Herzchen - sweetheart
> 
> Kätzchen - kitten
> 
> Du hast Glück, dass du so süß bist! - You are lucky that you're so cute!
> 
> kleine - little one 
> 
> Wir sehen uns bald - We will see each other soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N wakes up from one nightmare...only to be dropped into another that's even worse. 
> 
> Will she be strong enough to handle her cozy little world being turned upside-down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains M A J O R spoilers for the events of BtD2, specifically Ren's route so...if you have not finished it yet and don't want to find out what happens from me, you might want to go do that and come back later.

XXIX. Sea Change

All of a sudden, Y/N wished she could return to the nightmare that she had been ripped from only seconds ago. Trying to claw her way across the floor, away from Strade. Away from the knife lodged deep in her back, but the further she crawled, the wider she was torn open as the blade was dragged through her flesh and muscle. He was laughing, asking in that sweet, borderline mocking sing-song of his for her to stay with him…but she couldn’t. She had to just…move on, somehow.

“Are you…OK?”

As soon as the earnest worry in Ren’s stilted voice pulled her back to reality, she could see that _he_ was the one who should be asked that question. The poor thing seemed just about ready to fall apart at any moment.

“Yeah…I’m good. Are you though? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”

Ren grit his teeth, drawing in on himself while reluctantly keeping his eyes fixed on hers. 

_“I’m_ fine, but…”, he began, hitching in a breath as he struggled to formulate words. She had never seen him quite like this before. In obvious distress, but unsettlingly calm and quiet about whatever could possibly be bothering him. She reached out to take his hand, which had been nervously stroking the tip of his tail, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Ren, calm down. It’s alright. Breathe…It’ll help clear your head. Trust me.”

Y/N laid a comforting hand on his trembling shoulder, imparting the same advice that he gave her during her hellish first week in captivity. Strade had naturally become infatuated with his recently-acquired toy and therefore couldn’t keep his hands to himself long enough to allow her rather severe wounds to heal, and so she had sought refuge in her new fox companion when her fear and panic started to get the best of her.

While Ren collected himself enough to speak his mind, she leaned over the other side of the bed to grab an old t-shirt from the pile of laundry on the floor that Strade never bothered to put away, throwing it on over her head. She swung her legs over the edge to sit next to him, draping an arm around him as he slowly regained his composure. 

“Better?”

She tried to sound encouraging, but she found herself increasingly alarmed (though not surprised) by the moisture collecting in the corners of Ren’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I think so. It’s…it’s Strade.”, he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper and thick with the threat of oncoming tears.

“Did he…hurt you today?”, she suggested right away, already feeling so guilty that Strade had been picking on the fox a lot more over the past couple of weeks while she was sick. Perhaps he had taken his little torture games a bit too far this time?

“Not today. He…he’s gone, Y/N.”, Ren choked mid-sentence, obviously fighting back a sob and he sniffled, slowly turning his head to meet her concerned gaze. She didn’t like what she saw.

No.

Ren could be a drama queen even on his best days, no doubt. He had a flair for the theatrical, much like Strade himself. So there had to be a reasonable explanation for his vague way of wording things, and these impromptu tears. 

“Huh? What do you mean? Where did he go?”

_Oh, of course! We were out of milk last night,_ Y/N thought wildly, desperately fishing for ways to rationalize the feeling of rapidly mounting dread that was turning the contents of her stomach into a whirlpool. 

_He went out to the store for a few things, that’s all! He’ll be back soon with the milk so the three of us can have hot cocoa and everything will be fine and normal and just…._

Little did she know, that nothing would ever be normal for her again. Not even close.

“Nowhere, he’s still downstairs. In…in the basement.” 

Ren had a far-away look in his eyes to go with his flat monotone, orange irises resembling a flame that had been turned down so low that it might be snuffed out with the slightest breeze. 

“I should have given him a blanket. It’s cold down there.”

Y/N’s heart was in her throat with her pulse hammering in her ears, making her feel dizzy and faint. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out until she consciously forced her lips to move.

_“What?_ …Ren….n-no…you can’t. You can’t be serious right now.”

She stood up, completely uncaring of the fact that she was naked from the waist down, and stumbled out to the hallway. Her bare feet felt so weighed down she was afraid she was going to sink into the floorboards. Ren followed her, flailing forward and snatching her hand to make sure she didn’t fall as she practically dragged him towards the door under the stairs. 

“Please tell me you’re _fucking joking!”,_ Y/N spat angrily, wheeling around to confront him, her back pressed up against the wooden door as if she was being cornered. 

_Oh, that Ren. Always pulling pranks on me ’n Strade._

Except…no. He never did that, did he?. Too spineless.

As if agreeing with her inner monologue, Ren just stared at her, _through_ her, hardly flinching at her raised voice before maneuvering around to turn the handle on the heavy basement door. He was completely silent, turning around only to offer her a look that was almost…apologetic, before gesturing to the dimly-lit stairwell. She was reminded again of her dream, wanting so badly to get as far away from that basement as she could and never look back, while at the same time needing more than _anything_ to race down those steps and be with the man she loved. Even if it burned away her remaining delicate shreds of sanity like a mangled corpse in a pottery kiln.

XXX. Denial

“I’m really sorry, Y/N…”

Ren sounded so small and distant even though he was standing right behind her at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I just… _found_ him like this.”

Granted, she had seen the shop in much worse shape. Entrails strewn everywhere like party streamers, assorted body parts detached from their owners and discarded like mismatched pieces on a set of scarily life-like action figures, but this…

Y/N braced herself with one hand on the wall at the sight. There was blood, though not even all that much by Strade’s basement standards, pooled on the floor by the support beam in the center of the room. The college student from the bar was sprawled out on their back, their legs covered in angry, stitched-up lacerations and one of their feet reduced to a ruined lump of flesh and raw, exposed meat. Judging by the messy hole in the center of the mutilated appendage, Strade must have had some spontaneous fun with his power-drill. She almost laughed, in spite of the situation. He just really _couldn’t_ help himself, sometimes.

_You big, dumb idiot…you said you’d be in and out. Now look…_

Her eyes wandered up to their face, a red death-mask with one gaping, empty eye socket still brutally impaled by a medium-sized blade from the knife drawer in Strade’s workbench. She recalled watching him use it once to saw someone’s fingers off one by one, just to see how many he could fit inside their screaming mouth without them gagging. Of course, he hadn’t even gotten to a full hand before he yanked them all out to shove something else down their throat instead, and she half-smiled to herself at the memory.

Leading away from the support beam, out of view from her spot at the stairwell, were more thick, sticky trails of blood with handprints smeared into them. It was as if someone had been crawling through it, or rather, dragging themselves through it because their legs had maybe ceased to function once they were halfway to their destination. Ren was about to give her a gentle push to round the corner so she could see where these stains led to, but she was two steps ahead of him. He winced as she made a tiny, barely-audible noise of pain like somebody crushing a mouse, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. When she finally got a good look, he was just thankful he couldn’t see her face. 

Stretched out on the floor, just underneath the wall-mounted cabinets where he stored the first-aid kit, lay the man who had abducted her, tortured her, and showered her with more love and affection in one year than anyone else ever had in her life. Strade was silent, motionless in that unnerving way that could make her feel like some invisible hand had hit the pause button on the universe. It reminded her of looking down at some taxidermied family member she barely knew in their casket, at a wake she didn’t want to go to in the first place. She always hated those things because she knew she would always remember that person from that point going forward as she saw them that day, slathered in bad makeup, reeking of formaldehyde and death.

In the few seconds before her quavering knees gave out and she dropped to the concrete, she made a promise to herself that she would never think about Strade this way. Not ever. Covered in his own blood, eyes and mouth wide open in what could only be shock that some shy college kid had bested him, and probably saddest of all, his outstretched hand seemingly reaching for the door handle on the cabinet before going limp. Before he bled out. Those hands, once so strong and confident as his fingers aggressively wrapped around her neck or lovingly combed through the tangles in her hair, now appeared impossibly frail and weak. They were always warm and slightly sweaty when he would touch her, but she had a sickening feeling that if she tried to hold them now, they would just be cold and stiff. 

Still unable to find any words, she toppled forward onto all fours and crawled over to where he rested. In the worst possible way this whole scenario felt like the ending to some cookie-cutter Hollywood tearjerker, the only difference being that the deceased loved one usually looked far too…lively, with their eyelids gently closed as if they were merely asleep. However, there was no mistaking this. 

Strade… _her_ Strade…was dead.

She positioned herself cross-legged on the floor and placed his head in her lap, absently stroking his hair like he would often do with hers when they watched TV or lounged in bed on lazy mornings. Ren cautiously moved a bit closer and softly called her name, but his attempts to get her attention went completely ignored. After a few minutes went by and a few tears had dripped onto his upturned face, Y/N managed to speak to Strade in a hushed, almost scolding tone of voice. The way he might address one of his pets if they did something mildly irritating such as spilling something in the kitchen, or in Ren’s case, shedding orange fur on the white carpet in the living room. 

“Str-Strade…Hey, I’m talking to you. Please wake up…You son of a bitch, you can’t just fucking _leave_ me like this. I love you too much for you to just…”

Her voice trailed off as she lifted a tendril of hair off of his red-stained collar and she jerked her hand away abruptly once she noticed the stab wound in the side of his neck, caked over with dried gore that she soon realized had saturated the entire front of his shirt.

“Oh, Strade…whatever happened to you…It—it should have been _me.”_

Ren jumped backwards when she suddenly whipped her head up, tear-filled eyes on fire and yelling like a woman possessed, shattering the quiet like some kind of mirror. 

_“It should have been ME!!!”_

“Y/N, no…no, c’mon. It wasn’t your fault!”, her assured her, offering his hand to help her to her feet, which she of course, steadfastly refused.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault but… _theirs…”,_ he told her, pointing to the body lying a few feet away from them. 

“I think they must’ve gotten ahold of one of his knives, and…Y/N? Wh-what are you doing?”

Nothing he said did any good, had no effect on her decision to carefully place Strade back on the floor and stalk her way over to his aforementioned last victim. She wrenched the blade covered in grayish brain matter out of their skull, standing over them with one foot on either side of their badly sliced-up legs. The knife trembled unstably in her tight-fisted grasp as she seethed with barely-contained rage. 

_“You…”,_ she muttered, her voice coming out like a rusty hinge in desperate need of oil. Before Ren could do anything else to stop her, she swiftly descended on the corpse like a vulture on carrion, bringing down the knife she clutched in both hands over and over, letting the sharp, slightly serrated blade fill their naked torso with bloodless holes, some of which she then proceeded to join together by slashing through the skin like a connect-the-dots puzzle. She was a wild, territorial animal in that brief minute or two, so ferocious and feral that Ren could swear that she had been part-beast just like him this whole time. 

“Gahhh!!! Oh God, _stop!!_ Stop it, Y/N, they’re already _dead!!”_

She acted as if she never even heard his frantic pleas as she plunged the knife into the corpse’s throat, twisting it viciously into their windpipe as she cried out, full of pure anguish and despair.

“Rot in hell, you fucking cunt!! _You_ took him away from me so fuck you, fuck you, _FUCK YOU!!!”_

With that, the knife clattered to the floor and she collapsed back against the beam with her legs drawn up as she sobbed uncontrollably onto her knees, rocking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to comfort herself. She silently begged whatever higher power that had brought Strade into her life to begin with, to bring her back to a simpler time. A time when she had been nailed to this same beam, twitching, crying, and screaming while he purred sweet German nothings into her ear and played with the fresh blood pouring forth from her wounds. All of the horrific pain and fear she had been forced to experience during those first few days with him couldn’t hold a candle to the devastating heartbreak she was feeling right now.

_It would be so easy to fix all of this,_ she thought calmly. She was so tempted to just pick that knife back up and rake the blade across her own throat or even vertically down both wrists. Then she could simply lie down on the floor next to Strade, their spilled blood swirling together as she drifted away peacefully by his side, where she belonged.

Deep down though, she knew somehow that he would be disappointed in her for just giving up like that so easily. Strade was always a big proponent of the old “survival of the fittest” theory. The weak die and the strong survive. Well, he was the dead one now and she was still very much alive to carry on…so wouldn’t he want her to be strong? For him? She could almost hear him now, his hot, moist breath fanning the sensitive shell of her ear as he growled low and deep from his chest.

_“Get up, liebling. I thought I taught you better than to go down without a fight! Now stop this verdammt whining or I’ll give ya something better to cry about, ja?…”_

All survivor. No guilt.

With that knowledge guiding her along, she managed to pull herself back up to her feet, barely feeling her half-numb toes touch the cold concrete as she made her way back over to where Ren was crouched and gazing down at Strade with some unreadable expression on his pale, tear-streaked face. The next time he spoke, it was with a mature clarity she had never heard from him before.

“…I loved him too, you know? Maybe not the way _you_ did exactly, but…Yeah. I did. He…he was…”

“Everything.”, Y/N finished Ren’s sentence for him without giving it much thought, kneeling down and embracing her adoptive little brother in her arms, being there for him the best a big sister could be while he found the courage to finally let go.

XXXI. Ice Coffin

After spending a long, cathartic hour or so of crying and reminiscing over someone who in all honesty, did not deserve to be mourned at all, reality came crashing back with the dawning realization that they needed to do something about the bodies. They both knew how to dispose of unwanted human remains in a way that would leave behind no trace of evidence; Strade had taught them well his own tricks of the trade. However, neither Ren nor Y/N had it in them to dismember and essentially cremate the closest thing to family they had since being abducted, even though _he_ would never have been so sentimental if the tables were turned.

If either one of _them_ had died of some incurable illness or god forbid, been straight up _killed_ due to Strade getting overexcited and nicking an artery or squeezing their necks a little too hard…sure, he would be upset for days, downright _pissed_ even. Might even fuck up his hand punching a wall or two, but when it came down to it, he would have no qualms about chopping them up into more manageable pieces and chucking them into the kiln just like every other hunk of dead weight that met its end on the hard concrete floor of the shop. 

You win some, you lose some.

In the end, it was Ren’s idea to clean up half of the “mess” in the exact opposite way. In the far corner of the basement near the table saw, there rested a large freezer. Strade would sometimes use it to store chunks of meat or body parts that didn’t quite fit inside the mini-fridge, or even just bigger quantities of regular store-bought meats to save for a later date. It was already chock full of ice as well as a few choice cuts from the last torture stream, and the size and horizontal orientation made it a suitable substitute for a proper casket. Instead of incinerating him down to ashes, they could _freeze_ his body, preserve it forever. That way, he would always be with them and they would never truly have to say goodbye. Certainly to anyone outside this veritable murder-house, this plan would sound incredibly unhealthy and insane, not to mention highly illegal…but to his two devoted, grieving, very “Stockholmed" pets, it couldn’t have been any more perfect.

As they were preparing to push the freezer over to the other side of the room, since it would be easier to move _it_ rather than a full-grown man, Y/N couldn’t help but notice that Ren kept looking at him kind of funny, a strange glow in his dilated pupils. She cringed, putting two and two together as soon as she caught him licking his chops in an all too Strade-like expression of primal hunger. 

_I should’ve known,_ she thought, shaking her head at him with a frustrated, albeit compassionate sigh. He would always save the hearts of his victims for Ren as a treat for good behavior, tossing them to him raw and bloody like it was feeding time at the zoo and laughing heartily while he scarfed them down. With his animal impulses taking over, it didn’t seem to matter that the organ he was consuming belonged to someone he actually once cared about. Hell, he’d probably do the same to _her,_ given the chance. She shuddered at the gruesome mental image and crouched down across from him as he started to tentatively unbutton Strade’s blood-drenched shirt. 

“Oh! Y/N, I, uh…”, he started to say, acting like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but she merely motioned for him to continue, giving him a reassuring look of acknowledgement. 

“Go ahead…not like _he’s_ using it anymore, right?”

Ren’s eyebrows shot up at her candid remark, and he lowered his head as if he was suddenly ashamed for even thinking about such a thing.

“Right…”

“Really, it’s fine.”, she insisted. “I mean, think of it as another way to like…keep him close to you, or something.”

He nodded, tracing a single needle-like claw down the center of Strade’s chest to mark an incision line. The clotted stab wound in his neck connected the two with a trail of dried blood and the frozen expression of disbelief and vague horror on his face only served as incentive to work faster. An odd mix of guilt, sadness, and revulsion made it increasingly difficult to stay down here for much longer in their dead master’s workshop. It was already starting to feel more and more like a graveyard with each passing minute, and they still had another one to take care of afterwards.

“Hold on, before you do anything…” Y/N said, sitting down next to Strade and carefully cradling the back of his head with one hand while covering his perpetually surprised, glazed-over eyes with her other. 

“I don’t, um…want him to see…”, she mumbled, as Ren removed his shirt completely. He examined it for a second, as if discovering it for the first time, then put it on over his hoodie after a moment’s thought. She didn’t say anything about this, though she instantly had the urge to pounce on him and wrestle it from his scrawny shoulders. He had no _right._ She made a mental note to steal it for herself while he was in the bath later and wear it to bed that night. 

“You should probably look away. I’m not gonna be…gentle or anything. OK?”, Ren warned her, extending his claws as he hovered over the targeted area. 

_“No.”_ , she argued firmly, furrowing her brow with determination. “I need to watch. He always made me and I…I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Or _weak.”_

She spat out the last word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Are you—”

_“Just do it!”,_ she snapped, leaning over to yank Strade’s hunting knife from its holster. She tried brandishing it threateningly in front of her, but the weapon was cumbersome and awkward for smaller hands such as hers to grip comfortably.

“…Or I _will.”_

Y/N felt a rush of power from the sharp, hefty blade, quickly beginning to understand why it was always his go-to; whether it be only for casual blood-play or cold-blooded homicide, it was a versatile tool for sure. She had a mind to keep this for herself as well, maybe even using it from time to time as a means to satisfy the cravings she anticipated having now that Strade would no longer be around to help her out with them himself. 

She pictured herself lying in his bed and wearing only his old shirt, drawing the edge of the knife over her many fading scars just to keep them (and his memory) nice and fresh. She imagined him lurking in the dark corner of the bedroom, watching from whatever “other” side there might be while she pleasured herself with her own blood, letting it run off her skin to soak into the sheets the two of them once shared. Totally _powerless_ and full of yearning to just… _touch_ her. Even if only for a second. Perhaps that was the hell he was destined for, after all of the unforgivable sins he had committed and all of the innocent (and not so innocent) lives he had taken.

Distracted by her morbidly erotic daydream, she merely stared blankly as Ren viciously tore into Strade’s chest cavity, burrowing his hands deep down between his ribs and extracting his dripping heart with surprising speed and efficacy. Despite his voracious appetite, he clutched it in both hands with a kind of respectful reverence, holding it aloft for her to see.

“Let’s share it.”, she suggested calmly. 

“Why? Won’t you get sick though? You’re a human…Humans can’t digest raw meat, can they?”

Leaning forward, she placed an assertive hand on top of his. 

“I really don’t care. I want some of him too.”

“Alright, fair enough. I think he’s still got stuff for that in the medicine cabinet if you start puking your guts out.”, he laughed uneasily and Y/N smirked a little. He observed that she looked almost as ravenous as he knew _he_ was, both of them eager to indulge, apparently. It made him feel something towards her that he had often experienced but always had to tamp down for fear of incurring his master’s wrath at someone touching his property. Maybe now…he wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. Maybe she would see that _he_ could be her new master. The new Strade.

They simultaneously sank their teeth into the fist-sized lump of flesh, each juicy bite releasing a burst of viscous, stagnant blood into their mouths that leaked onto their chins and dripped down their chests, back into the gaping hole from whence it came. The meat was uncommonly tough and chewy, and Y/N found herself struggling to swallow and keep it down without feeling nauseous. Even in death, Strade was an acquired taste, it seemed. He had forced her to consume a variety of raw human parts on a number of occasions, and drink blood on countless more, oftentimes electing to spit it into her open mouth during heated post-murder make out sessions…so it’s not like she couldn’t just power through it all in spite of the awful flavor and off-putting textures. 

Ren witnessed her choking down the last bit, quite frankly impressed. Their faces were only inches apart and it took every bit of his will not to just press his bloody lips to hers, but he didn’t shy away either. It was Y/N that made the first move instead, leaning down to place a tender farewell kiss on Strade’s cold dead mouth, despite the fact that it was still partially open. _Gross,_ he thought to himself, making a dismayed face. Although he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he couldn’t help but be jealous of a rigid, decaying corpse. It was almost funny. When Y/N first arrived he had been unbelievably jealous of the constant special attention the new girl was given, stealing the spotlight away from him, but as time went on…he found himself envious of his captor instead. 

The way she gazed at him longingly at the dinner table while he obliviously shoveled food into his mouth…the way she fussed over every little cut and scrape he got while tussling with an unruly captive…even the way he could very clearly hear her screaming out his name late at night when they probably assumed he was fast asleep…Ren wanted all of that and more for himself. He wanted _her._

“Well?…you ready?” She didn’t bother to look up, too busy aimlessly running her fingers through Strade’s hair as well as through the coagulated blood surrounding his massive chest wound. It was as if she was talking to both of them at once.

“Uhh…yeah. Just a sec.”, he muttered, turning to lift up the weighty, suctioned lid on the freezer. It would take some time, he knew, but he was confident that he would eventually make Y/N view things from his perspective. He could be just as persuasive and charismatic as the man who taught him to never take “no” for an answer, she would soon see.

~

“Sooo…now what, Ren?”,Y/N asked, still catching her breath from the exertion. They sat side by side with their backs leaning up against the freezer, allowing the chilled surface to cool the thin glaze of sweat on their skin. Turns out, that big boy was _heavy._

“Like, where do we go from here? What do we _do?”_

He shrugged, scratching the inside of his pointed ear and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Whatever we want, I guess. I mean…we’re _free._ This house, his car, all of the _money…_ It’s ours now.”

She looked over at him, suddenly puzzled. 

“…The money, too?”

Ren nodded enthusiastically, eager to tell her the good news. The silver lining on the hulking rain cloud of losing the only person that took care of them.

“Yeah! Y’see, while you guys were gone on that trip a couple summers ago, I found all of his passwords and bank info written down on a post-it note in one of his drawers!”

Her confused expression turned slightly accusatory and he held up his hands defensively in response.

“Hey, hey! Don’t look at me like that…I was just looking for some batteries for the TV remote and ended up finding it by accident, that’s all.”

Y/N emitted a humorless huff of a laugh, rolling her eyes and thumping her head back against the freezer. 

“God, he could be so… _stupid_ …sometimes, huh?”

“Yup, Strade may have been pretty smart when it came to, well, a _lot_ of things…but also kind of a dumb-ass too, now that I think about it…”, Ren agreed, holding back his own barking giggle fit. 

“…but he was _our_ dumb-ass!”, he added, reaching up and patting the top of the freezer, affectionately.

When he actually convinced her to crack a reluctant smile at that, it was as if his face was being lit from within just to see her looking a little less miserable than before, it made him so happy. _Maybe things won’t be so bad after all,_ they each thought to themselves as she leaned her head on his shoulder and he curled his tail around her waist, both simply listening quietly to the low, droning hum of Strade’s final resting place behind them.

X XXII. Coping Mechanisms

For at least a little while, things seemed almost normal. Ren and Y/N gradually adjusted to their newfound freedom the more time they spent walking around without their collars on, doing whatever they normally did when Strade was around to watch over them like some bird of prey. Cooking, laundry, playing video games…all without those awkward, metallic status symbols hanging around their necks. However it was the weight of their grief, their _guilt,_ that was another story, though neither of them were prepared to address the implications of those complicated feelings at this stage of the game. They may have felt as light as clouds, able to do whatever or even _go_ wherever they pleased, but the hard truth was that they were also so very…

… _Lost._

Without Strade breathing down her neck 24/7, telling her what to do and leading her around like an obedient puppy on a leash, Y/N spent the next couple of days wandering the house in a sort of disoriented haze, still not fully comprehending that she was no longer at the mercy of a deranged lunatic who had essentially treated her as his own personal sex doll for the past year and a half. By all accounts she should have been jumping for joy and dancing in the street, but she truly didn’t know what to do with herself. Instead she browsed the internet on Strade’s laptop, catching up on what had been going on with the outside world while she was locked away under his powerful spell, but was mostly unsurprised to find that not much had really changed, after all.

At night she predictably had trouble falling asleep since there was no warm, mildly threatening figure beside her to snuggle up to or wear her out before bedtime, and so she ended up just getting out of bed, eventually finding herself in the basement without really knowing why. Without picking them up or moving anything out of its place, she ran her hands over his well-loved tools, touching the faded bloodstains and riffling through the drawers in his workbench, simply because there was nobody there to stop her. 

When she got bored she made her way over to the freezer, now pushed back into the corner. She was beyond tempted to open it up and peek inside, just to see his face again, but…deep down, she knew that was a bad idea. So she simply climbed on top of it and stretched herself out across the lid, pretending she could feel his strong arms around her one more time. Despite the cold temperature of the basement combined with the freezer, she was finally able to drift off for a few hours, or at least until Ren found her down there and ushered her back upstairs to warm up with some morning tea.

That day she whiled away nearly the entire afternoon binge-watching old livestream recordings, particularly those that she was featured in. It helped a little to see herself with him again, at least at first. Eventually though, it became too painful and overwhelming, especially during the more intimate parts. So she turned it off and traced her fingertip along the shelf of unmarked discs until she reached the far end on the left, popping it into the DVD player out of sheer curiosity. 

The date in the corner of the screen on the grainy film indicated that this footage was from about eight years ago. Strade was of course, much younger, either twenty-six or twenty-seven depending on what month he was born in. It struck her all of a sudden that she had been head-over-heels in love with a man who had never told her something so basic as his birthday. Or his real last name, for that matter. All of his IDs that they had found were clearly fake, including his driver’s license, so none of that information would have even been accurate to begin with. She supposed she would never know, but it hardly mattered.

The Strade in this old video was approximately the same age that she was right now, a bit thinner around the middle and his hair apparently a bit longer since it was pulled back in a loose knot to keep it out of his eyes while he was working. His body language was different too, seeming a touch more hesitant and inexperienced with his craft than the man _she_ had known, though no less violent or sadistic. She obviously couldn’t see his face since it was hidden by that familiar skull-print bandana, but she wondered vaguely if he would still have that little scar on his chin or if that would have come later. His accent was also much thicker and more guttural, speaking in broken English when he wasn’t barking in clipped German at the sobbing young woman he had handcuffed to a pipe that snaked along the wall. 

She was kneeling on the floor while he used some kind of heat gun to slowly melt her skin off from various parts of her body. Y/N watched impassively, as if this was any other movie she would just throw on to block out the endless static buzzing in her traumatized mind, while the woman screamed and writhed. The metal cuffs cut into her deeply bruised wrists from her incessant struggling while Strade laughed loudly and cruelly, bantering with his unseen audience. 

“Ahahahahh!! _Ach,_ _dieser kleine fraulein_ is, eh…getting, how you say…”hot under _der Kragen_ ”, _ja?”,_ he said brightly, with a half-joking little tug at his own shirt collar before jamming the barrel of the heat gun into her mouth, no doubt burning her tongue and gums beyond repair. Y/N could practically smell her flesh cooking as he forced it deeper down her throat, slamming the back of her head against the metal pipe. Tears streamed down the woman’s face as the skin on the front of her neck began to redden and blister, weakly kicking her bare feet at Strade’s sturdy boots. Without stopping what he was doing he turned to look at the camera, at _her,_ eyes heavy-lidded and dazed with lust as slender tendrils of smoke seeped out of the sides of her mouth and curled around to frame his face. It became clear that she was slowly being roasted alive from within, but Y/N had to dig her fingernails into her thighs to prevent her hands from creeping between her legs as she watched her die, regardless.

Holy hell, how she _missed_ him. 

Meanwhile Ren busied himself with handling their finances, converting the copious amounts of cryptocurrency from Strade’s deep web accounts into actual usable money, which quickly proved to be no easy task. Granted, he had spent the last couple of years helping Strade commit blatant tax fraud given that almost all of his income was earned through streaming snuff porn and besides that, he had occasionally been paid under the table for fixing up somebody’s car or doing yard work for their elderly neighbor. Still, even with that little bit of experience under his belt, Ren wasn’t entirely sure he was doing any of this tedious paperwork _correctly._

At the same time, he was starting to worry about Y/N, who hadn’t really been doing much of anything or even eating very much at all. The last time he saw her that evening, she had been laying on the couch and barely paying attention to some mindless prime-time sitcom as she gazed listlessly at the door under the stairs. As if she was expecting Strade to kick it open at any minute, leaning with one bloody glove on the wall and saying: _“Hallo, liebling_ …where’s Daddy’s dinner?”, or any number of other inexplicably charming things that had her melting into a puddle at his feet.

Ren rolled his chair back from his desk to take a break, deciding that he would try to make supper extra special for tonight, just for her. Maybe her favorite food and some ambient candlelight would cheer her up? Perhaps even a nice, soothing bubble bath afterwards…The gears turned faster in his head, his fluffy fox tail bristling and swishing with excitement as he bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. He had a good feeling that this might be the night that all the broken pieces of his old life would fall into place, and he could make her his, at last.

~

“Y/N! Dinner!”, he called out as he approached the entrance to the living room. She didn’t even move a muscle, still curled up on one end of the sofa in her pajamas, her long hair tied up atop her head in a messy bun. A stack of DVDs in clear jewel-cases sat on the side table next to her as well as a half-empty box of tissues.

Oh. She was watching those old home movies. He shook his head, remembering how much she used to hate them. How much she would squirm in Strade’s lap while he held her face in his hands, forcing her to witness the carnage play out while purring in her ear about what a lucky little girl she was that the person on the screen wasn’t her instead.

Her expression in the glow of the LED screen was dream-like, her lips slightly parted and curved up in the barest hint of a smile…but her eyes were also red and swelled up from crying. He stole a glance at what was going on in the video. Strade was straddling some unidentifiable captive on the floor, savagely bludgeoning their face with a ball-peen hammer until they had no discernible features left. He paused, placing his palm on their chest for a few seconds before exclaiming: “Wow, buddy! I can’t believe you’re still _breathing!”_ His voice was so full of child-like wonder that one could assume he had just discovered proof that Santa Claus did, in fact, actually exist.

“Y/N? Hey, come on…it’s dinner time!”

Ren tried his best to remain cheerful, to not let his impatience show.

“…not hungry.”, she mumbled, nearly drowned out by the sickeningly wet smacking noises made as the blunt end of the hammer pummeled the victim’s exposed brain matter that had spilled out all over the floor.

He sighed, planting his hands on his hips and stood in front of the TV like an annoyed parent.

“You need to eat, y’know! And plus, I made your favorite…!~ _Mac ’n peas!”_

Y/N lifted her head, her eyebrows raising with moderate intrigue.

_“Really?”_ , she squeaked, not doing a very good job of hiding how delighted she was.

“Really, really.”, Ren assured her, stepping forward to help her to her feet.

“Now hurry, before it gets cold!”

He led her by the hand into the kitchen, where the table was carefully set for two. The macaroni and cheese mixed with green peas was invitingly plated with tiny sprigs of basil for garnish, and an assortment of small, scented candles served as a pretty centerpiece. Watching for her face for a reaction, he waited for her eyes to light up at the sight. He could guarantee that Strade would have never slaved over a home-cooked meal just to make her happy. He probably would have just pulled a box of the instant stuff out of the pantry and thrown it at Ren’s head, demanding _he_ make it instead while he probably went to go jerk off or something. 

“Well, whaddaya think? I even drizzled some of that hot sauce you like on it! I’m not much for spicy but I figured I could give it another shot, anyways.”

Y/N clapped her hands together, turning to offer him the most genuine smile he had seen from her in days.

“Aww..thank you, Ren! You’re so sweet…Oh my God, it smells _amazing!”_

He beamed right back, politely pulling out a chair for her before taking a seat himself. Turned out, it tasted even better than the cheesy aroma wafting through the air had implied, but Y/N couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to the empty spot at the table between them. This was, after all, the first real meal they had shared together in the kitchen since Strade had died, and it felt…wrong, somehow. She even almost suggested that they should wait for him to come back before they started eating, but thought better of it before she could actually blurt out something so asinine. 

The two of them made small talk, with Ren carrying most of the conversation while Y/N periodically glanced over his shoulder at the entryway to the darkened hallway, only half-listening to his ramblings about the latest anime or the random stuff he was thinking about buying with his share of Strade’s money. As her spoon scraped the bottom of her plate, a low, husky voice echoed in her head that made her stop chewing in order to hear it better.

_“...Du bist mein Eigentum und ich werde dich nie entkommen lassen...”_

With that, she came to the abrupt realization that as long as she remained in this house, _his_ house, she would never truly be free. She would live every second always believing that he would come back for her at any moment; standing on the other side of the frosted glass door while she was taking a shower, peering over her shoulder as she was working on a painting, hovering just above the bed and staring at her from the shadows like one of her sleep paralysis demons. The oppressive shock collar was gone from her neck, but it had been replaced by the cold, unforgiving hand of a man who was now technically nothing more than a traumatic memory. She still loved him dearly and deep down she knew some part of her always would, but…she couldn’t go on like this. 

Strade had warned her that he would never let her go and damned if he wasn’t going to keep that promise, despite being dead as a fucking doornail. He was literally everywhere and nowhere at once, driving her absolutely insane from his unassuming, icy grave in the basement. If she didn’t want to end up in a strait-jacket, bashing her head against the walls of a padded cell in an effort to quell that menacingly seductive voice that kept repeating the same thing over and over, screwing it into her skull: 

_“…You’re still mine, you know that? All mine and only mine. Do you hear me, Du kleine Göre? You. Are. Mine._ **_…Forever.”_ **

_…_ Well then, she was going to have to get the fuck out of here, wasn’t she? Just leave and never, ever come back. The idea sounded so _right,_ so loud in her heart and her soul that it almost made that voice seem quiet by comparison and she had to bite back the urge to yell out: 

_“NO I AM NOT STRADE NOT ANYMORE YOU’RE DEAD NOW DEAD AND GONE AND_ **_YOU DON’T CONTROL ME”_ **

But instead, she calmly set down her eating utensil, daintily wiping her mouth with her napkin and clearing her throat in a subtle manner in an effort to get Ren’s attention. Yes, it was time. 

However, right before she opened her mouth to break the news to her one and only friend that she would be packing her belongings and moving out as soon as tomorrow morning, she could feel the grip around her neck growing ever tighter.

_Angrier._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I know what you're all thinking, but...please don't hate me. This is NOT the end, my friends.
> 
> German Translation Key:
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> verdammt - damned
> 
> Ach, dieser kleine fraulein - Oh, this little lady (fraulein is an outdated term for a young, unmarried woman)
> 
> der Kragen - the collar
> 
> Du bist mein Eigentum und ich werde dich nie entkommen lassen - You are my property and I will never let you escape.
> 
> Du kleine Göre - You little brat


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that she will be driven mad with grief and longing for her lost love if she stays even one more day in that house, Y/N prepares to leave everything behind. Ren, on the other hand...
> 
> Well, he has other plans.

XXXIII. Best Friends

What had started as a pleasant, though unexpected, candlelit dinner had suddenly devolved into an awkwardly silent encounter the moment the word “leave” exited Y/N’s lips. Ren’s spoon halted inches from his mouth before slowly lowering back to his plate, his upper lip twitching slightly to reveal the tip of one of his fangs. He was not taking this well, not at all judging by the way his pupils narrowed to vertical slits as he simply stared daggers into her eyes. She averted her gaze downwards, pretending to be more interested in lining up a group of peas in the center of her dish. However, when he finally spoke up again he sounded surprisingly…hurt. Offended, even.

“So you don’t wanna…stay here? With me? Did I…do something wrong?”

Y/N glanced up, offering him a consoling smile and patted his arm. 

“No, no, that’s not it at all! Look, I know this is gonna sound cliche as hell, but it’s totally not you, Ren. It’s me! I need to get back to my old life…or I dunno, start a new one or something…but I can’t do that if I’m living here, always waiting for someone who’s…never coming back. If that makes any sense.”, she explained, not entirely sure if it made any sense to _her,_ let alone Ren. 

He drew in a deep breath, releasing a shaky exhale before responding. She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping for the best. She didn’t think she could handle losing another loved one so soon.

“…It does. I get it, and I can’t say I blame you.”

Y/N let out a sigh of relief.

“Then you understand?”

Ren gave her an unsteady smile, holding one hand up in a gesture of acknowledgement. 

“Sure. I mean, I don’t _like_ it, but…if that’s what you need to do to be happy, then I won’t try to stop you. Just promise me one thing, OK?”, he asked, leaning towards her to grasp her hand in a way that felt almost aggressive, but she chalked it up to him being a little on edge from pure stress.

“Of course, Ren. What is it?”

“Say you’ll come visit me, sometimes. Call or text, keep in touch. That sorta thing. I want…I want us to still be f-friends.”

She placed her other hand over his, squeezing reassuringly.

“I promise. We’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

She kissed his cheek and he immediately blushed, digging the claws of his free hand into the seat cushion in an effort to maintain some semblance of control. Practicing self-restraint was never one of his strong suits and living with someone like Strade for so long certainly didn’t do much to improve that.

“No matter what.”, he repeated after her, getting up to take her plate to the sink even though she wasn’t quite finished eating. After a couple of minutes of listening to Ren noisily tend to the dirty dishes a little more…violently than usual, she snuck out of the kitchen to go take stock of her belongings, deciding what to bring on her journey to wherever, to her new life. Freedom.

XXXIV. Forever

Something wasn’t right.

Y/N knew almost instantly, as soon as the light switch of her consciousness flipped from sleep to wake up mode. She sat up in bed, hands flying to her neck to confirm what she already suspected was true.

That fucking _collar._

Steadying her breath, she willed herself not to panic. Her first question was why, not who, since it was obvious that the past week had not just been one long night terror and that Strade was still very much deceased. If that had been the case, surely she would have awakened to a few new aches and pains from his typically brutish idea of cuddling, or a sticky string of drool drying on her face and neck from his loud, open-mouthed snoring.

The next thing she noticed was that his faded green button-down she had gone to bed in was missing, leaving her in just the plain white tank-top she wore underneath. This only served to fuel her rage as she cursed under her breath. 

“Goddammit, Ren.”

Hopping out of bed, Y/N threw on the simple outfit she had laid out the night before along with her combat boots, then grabbed her fully-packed duffel bag and stomped out to the hallway. The little fucker wasn’t in the kitchen, but she heard soft voices coming from the living room and guessed he must be in there with the TV on low volume so as not to disturb her.

She dropped her bag by the front hall closet and stood in the entryway to the living room, glaring hard at Ren. He was reclined on the sofa with what else, but a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his grubby little paws. Topped with whipped cream and wearing Strade’s old shirt over his sweatshirt to boot. _Her_ shirt. He took a sip while peeking at her from over the top of the cup, then flashed her a sharp-fanged grin so wide his eyes appeared to squint. She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to snatch his mug and dump the hot liquid all over his crotch.

“Oh, you’re up!”, he greeted her cheerily, leaning over to lower the recliner and place his drink on the coffee table.

“Sorry, was the TV too—“

“You wanna maybe explain what the fuck _this_ is about?!”, Y/N spat angrily, jostling her collar. The normally cute sound of the bell jingling made her want to throw up. Ren played coy but she thought she caught a smidgen of discomfort in his perky demeanor, perhaps a twitch of an ear or a quiver in his furry fox tail. 

“Calm down, Y/N. I know it seems… _weird_ …but you gotta understand!”

He stood up straight, padding slowly towards her.

“Understand what? That you’re a _liar?”_ , she snapped, her tone laced with bitter sarcasm. “You said you understood why I can’t stay here and now…and now you…”

“Now I realize…”, Ren began, sliding the remote for her collar out of the pouch pocket in his hoodie.

“I can’t let you go.”

Y/N was speechless, barely able to mouth the word _“What?”_ as she began to back-step into the hallway. Ren kept his voice down, trying to soothe her temper.

“You should come sit down so we can talk. I’ll get you some cocoa and you can put your feet up, OK? You deserve to relax, Y/N. This week must’ve been especially hard for someone as sweet and gentle as you.”

She tried to find some choice words to throw back at him that were neither remotely sweet nor gentle but he was already grabbing her forearm, burrowing his nails harshly into her skin. 

_“Oww!_ Ren, stop! You’re hurting me!”, she protested as he yanked her back into the room.

“I won’t have to, as long as you’re good. Now _sit!”,_ he ordered, making a show of hovering his thumb above the big red button on the remote in his other hand.

She begrudgingly obeyed, aware of how awful those electric shocks could feel first hand. Granted, Strade only ever had to discipline her a handful of times, usually for being too wishy-washy about torturing someone on camera. Although he probably knew that the adorable sounds she made as her entire body locked up and she crumbled to the floor only added to the entertainment value for his bloodthirsty audience. 

Ren giggled, looking positively tickled about actually being in charge for once as he pulled the lever on the recliner and offered her his own still-warm mug of hot chocolate. Probably a wise move on his part to avoid leaving the room, since she would probably have come after him with the nearest blunt object the second he turned his back.

“Comfy?”, he asked, noting the stone-faced expression of loathing on her otherwise delicate features.

“Just start talking.”

Her tone was as flat and emotionless as her face.

“Fine, fine…OK, so…the reason you can’t go is that, well…”, his voice trembled, belying an apparent lack of confidence despite being the one who was physically in control of the situation.

“I just… _really_ care about you a lot, and I kinda don’t really wanna be alone. I don’t think I could go back to a life without you in it, even if I’d be free to do whatever, y’know? And besides…”, he continued, taking a seat next to her and stroking her cheek with his tail. 

“Now that it’s just us two, there’s nothing stopping me from being with you…for real.”

Y/N jerked away from him, scrunching up her nose in disgust but he only sidled closer, nuzzling his head under her chin. 

“Ugh…listen, Ren. I care about you too, but I don’t think you’re getting me here. I don’t…like you in _that_ way. At all. In fact, you remind me of my little brother and I just…really wanna stay friends. So please. Give me that remote, and…”

He was on top of her so fast, that she hardly had time to register the sharp sting of his claws scraping her scalp as he forced her head towards his into a painfully awkward kiss.

Her eyes widened and she froze up completely while Ren assaulted her lips with all the finesse of a horny teenage boy on prom night. She flushed red with second-hand embarrassment, pressing her mouth into a tight line, lest he try to slip her some tongue. After what felt like _hours_ he pulled away, his eyes possessing a feral glow and his tail flicking side to side, excitedly.

“Let me guess…is it because I’m not _him?”,_ he suggested, flexing his claws directly in front of her face. 

“Well, don’t worry…I can be more like Strade, if you want me to…”

This threat came with a husky growl as he lightly dragged the tip of one claw along the soft part of her cheek, hard enough to leave a scratch, but too gentle to bleed. His audacity was so shocking and so repulsively infuriating that she quickly shot back at him, craning forward in the recliner to get up in his personal space as much as he was invading hers. 

“You will NEVER be even HALF the man that Strade was!”

Ren swiftly recoiled back on his haunches, visibly wounded. His jaw fell slack in dismay as she kept firing insults at him.

“You’re nothing but a coward, betraying your only friend because you’re too much of a _pussy_ to face the world alone!”

He bared his teeth, lunging at her and slamming his hands against her shoulders to pin her against the cushions.

“You take that _back!_ You know he was a coward too, don’t you? He only picked on the small and weak because he knew someone his own size would just kick his ass!”

Y/N thrashed underneath him, trying to push him away but he only clung to her tighter, like a squirrel in a tree.

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least… _nngh…_ at least _Strade_ was actually a good kisser!”

He wasn’t though, at least not by any conventional standards. Although, she _had_ to admit she was pretty into the way he used to slobber all over her face and jam his tongue down her throat. Still, the point was to get under Ren’s skin with that one. 

It worked.

He sneered and narrowed his eyes, frantically tearing at her clothes with his claws and fangs. It became clear that he intended to force himself on her while snarling and gnashing his teeth like some kind of rabid animal. Slashing into the soft skin between her cleavage, he ripped through the neckline of her top and she cried out as she felt warm blood trickling down her stomach under her shirt.

“Just face it, Y/N…”, he growled, tearing the remains of her shirt downwards to expose her left breast.

“You’re so helpless right now…just like _he_ was.”

Her heart dropped into her guts, not quite believing what she had just heard. Ren sensed her discomfort and he leaned back slightly, a nasty, toothsome grin splitting his smug face from ear to pointy fox ear. 

“Yeah…that’s right. I found your precious Strade lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, because he was calling ME for help! He begged ME for mercy!”

Ren let out a crazy sort of barking laugh, pressing himself against her as his tail curled around her leg, partially spreading her thighs.

“You little…fucking _rat…”,_ she hissed, beginning to pant with sheer, unadulterated fury.

“You should’ve seen how _scaaared_ he looked when I refused…ya wanna know what the last thing he said to me was?”

He cocked his head and moved his mouth right next to her ear, forcibly pulling her back towards him with a hard grip on her jaw when she tried to turn her face away. He pushed a single claw into the scratch he had made previously, deepening the wound and making her wince as he sloppily groped at her chest. It was obvious that he had never touched a woman in his life.

“I swear…to _Christ,_ I will chop your fucking tail off and wear it as a scarf…”, she seethed, darting her eyes to the side table for something she could reach to defend herself. Sure enough, she spotted an ashtray on the side-table in the corner of her eye, just hefty enough to do some real damage if she could manage to crack it against his skull. She had always despised the smell of cigars, especially when Strade blew the thick, dark smoke into her face or snuffed the smoldering ends out on her bare flesh, but right now she was more than grateful for that particular disgusting habit of his. 

Ren largely ignored her threats, cradling her chin lovingly in his hand while he grinded himself against her. The sensation made her nauseous, her head reeling as she extended her arm out to the side and barely brushed her fingertips on the lip of the ashtray.

“He told me the same thing that I’m gonna tell _you,_ if you don’t…stop… _fighting_ me!”

Y/N wiggled her fingers, straining to stretch her arm out a bit further. C’mon…just a little more…

_“…Do what I say…or I will KILL you.”_ , Ren growled out, achieving a fairly passable approximation of Strade’s “angry” voice, complete with faux-German accent. He was so busy trying to intimidate Y/N and dry-humping her inner thigh to notice that she had hooked one finger into the ashtray, sliding it closer to her waiting hand. Just as he was about to slide his claws down from her breasts and under the waistband of her jeans, she secured a firm hold on the solid chunk of ceramic, smirking triumphantly.

_So this is how it ends,_ she mused to herself, trying to reconcile the fact that she was now being forced to bash her best friend’s head in stop him from essentially raping her in a fit of jealousy-induced mania. All of this being the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was the untimely death of the only man she ever loved, who also just so happened to be an IRL slasher movie villain if there ever was one. 

_What a fucking soap opera._

_“You first!”,_ Y/N hissed through her teeth, setting her jaw and tensing her muscles as she swung her arm up full force to smash the corner of the tray into the side of Ren’s face. Ashes and cigar debris rained all over them and Ren yelped like a dog that had been kicked as he was knocked off balance just long enough for her to lurch forward and buck him off. He tumbled sideways, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to stay upright but she was running on fumes at this point, hellbent on taking down his skinny, backstabbing ass if it was the last thing she ever did.

She wanted to make him suffer, make him bleed. Give him a taste of what Strade must have felt. She was aware that it was ludicrous to suggest that their captor’s fate hadn’t been well-deserved, but she simply didn’t care. Not anymore. She had never wanted anything in her entire life as badly as she wanted him back, and the fact that this little chickenshit was the reason he was gone was enough to completely obliterate her already slow-regenerating sanity meter.

“Y/N, wait! I…I’m—“, Ren pleaded with her, his eyes wide and wild with pain and fear before she abruptly cut him off. Throwing all of her upper body strength into his side, she propelled them both off of the sofa, smacking him headfirst into the edge of the coffee table before collapsing on the carpet. She panted heavily, lying face down on top of him before pushing herself up on her palms to examine his face. He was out cold but still breathing steadily, his thin chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.

Relieved that she hadn’t accidentally snapped his neck, she rolled aside and felt the back of his head to check for any signs of serious injury. No blood, but the area that had struck the table was already swelling up. Her knowledge of head trauma that she had acquired from working with Strade told her that he would be perfectly fine, apart from waking up with one _bitch_ of a migraine.

After fixing her disheveled clothes the best she could, she pried the remote from his limp hand to remove the collar. Rubbing her neck and wiping away the small amount of blood from his claw marks, she realized she didn’t have long before Ren would regain consciousness. She considered putting the collar on him instead, but he just looked so small and pathetic splayed out on the rug that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Funny how that works, when she had been so ready to strangle him with her bare hands mere seconds ago. 

Surveying the room, she haphazardly shoved both the collar and the remote underneath the sofa and jumped to her feet, sprinting back to Strade’s room. She yanked open the bedside drawer, fishing out his smartphone and wallet, along with a pad of post-it notes and a pen. First things first, she used the phone to call a cab for herself, and was told that it would arrive in about ten minutes. Then she flipped open the wallet, stealing a fat wad of cash and stuffing it into her boot, tucked beneath her sock. A quick swipe through the bills was enough to confirm that she would have plenty of money to put herself up in a decent hotel for at least a week while she decided what to do next.

She scribbled out a hasty goodbye note to Ren, writing as small as she could while still being legible in order to properly express her mixed feelings about what had happened between them. 

_“Ren- I’m not sorry, but I WILL miss you. It breaks my heart that you wanted to mess up our family so badly. You killed Strade and you pushed me away so I hope you have fun being alone. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”_

She hesitated for a second, debating whether or not to sign off with her usual _“xoxo”_ , then decided at last to simply end it with:

_“ <3 Y/N”_

Peeling the note off the pad, she took one last long look at those familiar surroundings before heading back out to the living room. Ren was stirring, fingers twitching and the tip of his tail thumping weakly against the carpet. She bent down and carefully pasted the note to his forehead, briefly stroking his orange hair before turning to the front door. A glance at the digital clock on the cable box indicated that her ride would be here in less than five minutes, and she wondered if that would perhaps give her enough time to run downstairs and…pay her last respects.

Probably not, she guessed, reasoning that if she ended up going down into the basement she may want to open the freezer to see Strade one last time. That might cause her to change her mind. Some delirious part of her damaged psyche warned her that his corpse would rise up from the dead and drag her into the frozen bed of ice and meat with him, trapping her there for all eternity, and that ridiculous fantasy was exactly what she needed to keep her grieving heart on track. 

Instead, she used the last few moments she had left in Strade’s house to reach back under the sofa for the shock collar, removing the tiny golden charm engraved with her first initial. A gift from her…lover?…that was really nothing more than a thinly-veiled symbol of ownership, there to remind her that she belonged to him and no one else with each bright, cheerful chime of that bell. Thinking on her feet, she took a shoelace from a mismatched sneaker she found in the hall closet’s dress-up box, stringing the bell onto it and tying it around her neck like an odd, makeshift piece of jewelry. 

She had decided it was best to leave behind most of the presents Strade had given her, except for whatever clothing she was able to fit into her bag, so this would be the one special keepsake she would have to remember him by…besides all of the scars of course. In that case, she supposed she would always remember his name at the very least and that was a bittersweet comfort, to be sure.

XXXV. _Auf Wiedersehen_

As she hoisted her duffel bag onto her shoulder, she made it a point not to look back as she reached for the front doorknob. However, something gave her pause as she stood with one foot over the threshold, feeling the biting winter wind in her hair and the sunshine on her face. The taxi would be here at any minute, so why couldn’t she _move_ all of a sudden? Later on, in the safety of the backseat of the cab, she would tell herself that it was just nerves, pure excitement about finally being able to strike out on her own, but there in that moment, in that doorway…

…she knew better.

A soft touch on her cheek, light as a feather but as numbingly cold as an icicle glided over her face and back through her long tresses, just barely lifting up a small section of strands before letting them fall down her back again. An ethereal whisper made the tiny hairs stand up on the back of her neck as it tingled the hollow of her ear, paralyzing her with terror for the briefest instant before she took off down the walkway, heart thudding in her chest. 

“… _Du wirst zu mir zurückkehren, meine liebe…”_

_Oh no, not that voice again. Shit, I really AM going crazy!_

_“…hahaha…I’ll be waiting…~”_

Y/N climbed into the car, shutting the door behind her with a sense of finality that felt incredibly liberating. Clutching her heavy bag on her lap, she was nearly startled when the driver turned around to greet her, asking where she wanted to go. It was a question for the ages, wasn’t it? She had been so laser-focused on escaping that madhouse that she hadn’t given more than a cursory thought to what her ultimate destination might be.

The logical part of her brain was telling her that the smartest plan of action would be to go to the nearest police station and turn herself in as the missing girl on the weather-worn flyers stapled to the telephone poles, but her gut was arguing that she should just forget what she used to know and get as far away from here as she possibly could. Where nobody, not her stupid roommate, nor her alcoholic mother could find her and try to lure her back into her miserable existence as a shy, mousy pushover with a cheating ex and a thankless retail job. 

Never mind the fact that she was now complicit in a high number of kidnapping and murder cases or that her DNA was all over the home of a serial killer who was demented enough to record video evidence of most of his crimes for his own sick enjoyment.

“Uh, Miss…?”, the driver said, louder the second time because he could tell she was spacing out. This poor girl honestly looked like she had been through the wringer in her day, despite still appearing to be so young.

“Where ya headed?”

Y/N produced a few hundreds from her boot, thrusting it between the front seats into the confused driver’s right hand. 

“As far as this will take me. _Please.”_ , she requested, hardening her tone with more conviction than she honestly felt. 

“You got it, little lady! Buckle up back there, it’s gonna be a long ride.”

As the cab pulled away from the curb, away from the place she once called home, she refused to cast even one last glance back as the house receded into the distance. In fact, from that point on she would only look forward despite having no idea where she was going or where she would eventually end up, either on this taxi ride or in life. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was finally free to take this opportunity she had been given and create something new for herself, something even better than before.

After everything that she had endured, the horror, the torture, and above all, her tumultuous relationship with the enigmatic force of nature she had known only as Strade…she had undoubtably grown into a stronger person. Not better, but… _stronger._ She leaned her head against the windowsill, thinking about him and what could have been if things had gone a little differently. If only she had been there to…

Then again, maybe it was best not to dwell on it.

Y/N drifted her eyelids closed as she got a bit more comfortable, preparing to sleep much of this trip away so she wouldn’t have to keep worrying about whether she was doing the right thing or not. As she finally allowed herself to rest at long last, she made a silent promise that she would never forget her first true love…

…no matter what lay on the horizon of her uncertain future.

XXXVI. Epilogue (Full Circle)

She is a married woman now, with a stable job that she doesn’t have to drag herself out of bed in the morning for. Two children, a boy and a girl, are singing and bouncing around rambunctiously in the back seat and her husband smiles fondly at her as he reaches over to hold her hand. She loves her family dearly and she counts her blessings for every new day that she gets to spend with them. Thankful that she had the strength to survive all those years ago.

But there are also other times, on the sleepless nights when the longing ache between her thighs becomes too much for her to handle, she finds herself wandering downstairs to the kitchen to just... _stare_...at the knives. Sometimes she even picks one up, sliding it out of the wooden butcher’s block, testing its weight in her hand...though she never has the courage to cut herself free.

Instead, she stands there, swaying a bit in the darkness. The knife shakes in her clenched fist, and it is then that she thinks of _him._

It is winter and they are visiting her in-laws for the holidays. Who knew the modest new home they bought to downsize from their sprawling estate outside the city would be in her old hometown? A sudden wave of dizziness crashes over her as she slowly begins to recognize the up-scale neighborhood they’re passing through. It’s just after nightfall and all of the houses are lit up with jolly, rainbow-colored Christmas lights on both sides of the street. 

Except for one.

It sticks out like the ugly, shameful scars she has desperately tried everything to hide, a sucking black hole in a sea of bright stars. It has been condemned, and the red X’s painted over the boards covering the windows look just like eyes. Like bloodstains. Her voice trembles, and the confidence she has spent the better part of a decade in therapy fighting to win back dissolves in the mere seconds it takes for her to make up her mind. She needs to see it one last time.

“Hey, could you...please pull over here?”

Her husband is confused but he complies because he is a kind man. He is aware of his wife’s past trauma, though not privy to the gritty details, and is used to these odd impulses of hers that crop up every now and then.

“Thanks hon, I’ll just be a minute.”

She leans over and kisses him without fully realizing why before trudging through the knee-high snow up the unshoveled walkway, dipping her head and hugging her elbows against the wind.

It is freezing outside, but there is a roaring fire in her gut, set ablaze by her memories of this place. Before she can even bring her hand to the knob, she somehow knows the front door will be unlocked. Her husband watches, somewhat alarmed, as his wife and the mother of his children disappears inside the abandoned house. The door shuts with a bang behind her even though he didn’t see her touch it. _I must be seeing things,_ he tells himself. 

Their daughter asks where mommy went.

“She’ll be right back, kiddo. Then we’ll go see Grandma, OK?”

They wait...but they never see Y/N alive again.

~

As her eyes adjust to the dark, she can immediately smell pungent motor oil and copper beneath all of the must and mildew that has been collecting here over the years. So, he was waiting for her all along. She hangs her winter coat on the hook by the entrance and leaves her snow-boots next to the foyer closet. Then she stands in front of the door under the stairs, drawing lines in the thick layer of dust on the wooden surface with her fingertips.

This time she doesn’t even have to touch the handle at all. It swings open by itself. Her throat goes bone-dry and her heart pounds against her ribs. She tries to form her lips around his name but she has forgotten how.

She descends the creaking staircase without bothering to turn on a light. There is no need because she swears she can feel his hand on her arm, guiding her. Impatiently pulling her down. Once she reaches the bottom, she isn’t the least bit surprised when the singular overhead lightbulb flickers to life, though dimmed with age and disuse as it is. As she looks around, she can see that most of the basement looks just the way she remembers it. The same tools, the same stains. Almost as if he never left. As if he never died.

The only thing missing is the freezer. There is a slightly less grimy patch of wall in the spot where it once rested. _Of course,_ she thinks. Why else would a nice house like this get condemned? Someone was bound to find out its secrets eventually.

She is hit by a sudden rush of cold air and the overbearing aroma of blood, sharp and metallic, stings her nostrils. Underneath is the sick, cloying stench of decay. She shivers as she feels invisible fingers ghosting over her face, tangling in her hair, and running down her sides. This touch is unmistakable.

“Strade...” 

She finds his name at last, not with fear, but as a woman addressing her lover...and she _did_ love him once. 

“I still do.”

_I know,_ those restless, unseen hands seem to say.

Then he is on her, his cold, dead lips eagerly consuming her, trying to claim her fully by way of her mouth. The more she realizes this can’t be just a dream, the more real...the more _physical_ he becomes.

His arms eagerly envelop her pliant, willing body and when his tongue caresses her neck, it actually _feels_ wet. Soon his deep, purring voice comes to her clear, like hitting the right spot on the radio dial after hearing nothing but static.

_“...Hahhh_...I’ve missed you, _liebling._ It’s been _so_ lonely down here, without you...”

And oh yes, that alluring accent. That hungry _growl._

“I-I’ve…missed you too…”

“Hmm…Just let me look at you, my little one…such a refined, _proper_ woman since I saw you last, _ja?”,_ he muses, the sound of his disembodied voice seeming to surround her on all sides. She cannot exactly _see_ him, not yet, but she just knows he is smiling into her hair, relishing the clean, floral scent of her dry shampoo.

“At least…on the outside. _Inside,_ however…I bet you’re still the same _filthy…_ little…girl…that I remember so well, am I right? Needy… _und feucht.”_

Now he just taunts her, teasing her playfully with his callous words and his skillful hands like they were never even apart to begin with…but there is only one thing weighing heavy on her conscience that she has been yearning to tell him.

“I...I’m so sorry for leaving. Sorry I just...couldn’t... _save_ you.”

He chuckles next to her ear, low and sultry, his fingers spidering along her jawline before abruptly tilting her head back and pressing his teeth into her throat like he wants to rip out her jugular. For the first time since setting foot down here, she is really afraid. Instead, he speaks to her. A deadly soft threat.

“None of that matters anymore,  _süßes Kätzchen._ You should know better than most that _death..._ is always so very...close. Besides,  you’re here now, aren’t you?...and I know you will _never_ leave me alone again…”

~

It’s as if her clothes want to melt from her body from the sheer heat of desire that permeates every inch of her skin. Her dress is ripped to shreds by some unseen weapon, the pieces peeled away to thump unceremoniously to the floor behind her. She moans helplessly as his icy hands touch her everywhere, and he shoves two frost-bitten fingers into her open mouth before tearing a hole in her tights and yanking her underwear aside to slam them up her already soaked cunt. 

He violates her with demonic aggression, his palm smashing against her pelvis and overstimulating her most sensitive spot as his nails drag against her hot inner walls, but now she can actually _see_ him through her fluttering eyelids. The otherworldly, amber glow of his eyes boring into hers are the only part of him that hasn’t remained semi-transparent. Even as a gray, freezer-burned cadaver, he is still so maddeningly attractive that it makes her breath hitch and her knees turn into gelatin.

“Mmm...Why so quiet?...Don’t you want to _scream_ for me? You know, for old time’s sake~!”

It is not really a question, she can tell, but she shakes her head anyway.

“N-no...’cause it doesn’t...hurt. It...it feels...so good…Been so…long.”

His sloppy kisses turn into sinister laughter and he tackles her to the ground without warning, a starving wolf going in for the kill. He has been waiting a long time for his next meal, this coveted delicacy, and now he can greedily devour his prize.

_“Ohh..._ Is that so...? Well, then...Let me _make_ it hurt. Just. For. _You.”_

Having him inside of her again after so many years feels deliciously like returning home at the end of a long day...and being viciously torn apart at the same time. Her screams echo off the ceiling as he takes her on the filthy, stained floor that still smells faintly of the harsh chemicals he used to scrub it with. 

“Ah!…y-you’re… _nngh!_ …really c-cold…”, she mewls, shivering uncontrollably with delight and impending hypothermia. It is as if she is being violently impaled over and over by a thick, varicose icicle.

“…then you’ll have to warm me up, _liebling…”_

He is rougher, and more forceful with her than he _ever_ was alive, shoving one leg back against her shoulder in order to fill her up with as much of himself as possible as he drives his turgid cock in and out of her slick heat with all the machine-like grace of an engine piston. With every brutal, bone-rattling thrust, all of her old wounds come singing back to life as fresh as the day he gifted them to her. He digs his long, cracked and blackened fingernails into the soft underside of her thigh, clawing through her tights and leaving jagged, angry lacerations that well up more and more as he repeatedly rakes over them. She becomes vaguely aware of blood trickling from between her legs as well, forming a small pool on the floor from his relentless abuse of her insides. She doesn’t care about any of these minor complaints, because she knows now that he plans on keeping her forever.

For real, this time.

So she reaches up to touch him, to accept him, but her hand goes right through his chest to the gaping, empty cavity where his heart used to beat. The corners of his mouth stretch back in a maniacal, rictus grin and he seizes her wrist to pull her deeper inside his ruined, rotting flesh. It squelches between her fingers and under her carefully manicured nails, and she _loves_ it.

“So where have you been all this time, hmm…? Don’t try to hide that _ring_ on your finger…did _mein haustier_ forget who she belongs to?”

“N-Never! All I ever w-wanted was _you,_ Strade…” 

He bends down close to her face, his stiff, frosty tendrils of hair falling against her cheeks, and licks a wet stripe upwards from her jaw to her cheekbone. Azure-tinted lips graze the shell of her ear, and his seductive whisper chills her to her core. Her only regret in the world is that she has never properly learned to decipher his native language.

_“Dein Herz gehört mir und niemand sonst…Ich werde ihn dich nicht mehr haben lassen…”_

~

_Could_ _this be...heaven?,_ she wonders as her long-deceased paramour fucks her into the concrete so hard it is as if he is trying to bury her under the house. But there is no god down here in the dark and the dust to deliver her from his loving, but frigid embrace.

As she approaches the pinnacle, she wants to pretend she doesn’t feel his frozen hand close tightly around her delicate throat, and ignore that all-too-familiar hunting knife glittering solidly in his grasp...but she can’t deny it. _He’s right_ , she realizes, just as a cluster of black spots begin to creep into the outer edges of her vision.

Death _is_ closer to her than she thinks. He always has been.

“I hope...you’re ready...Y/N...”, he hisses down at her, raising his knife high above her heaving chest, directly over her racing heart. He licks his lips, concentrating. He has been _dying_ to do this ever since the first time he laid eyes on her that day in the coffee shop, so trusting and innocent. To break her the way he had broken so many of his other toys before.

“I can’t…wait…any longer…!”, His voice heightens in a guttural moan, full of desire and deranged lust.

“Ahhaahhnn!!!…S-Strade…Oh fuck— _Please…!”_

She’s not even sure whether she is crying out his name in protest or encouragement. Probably both. Perhaps she always knew somehow that everything would end this way. She only hopes that the husband and children she will leave behind will forgive her for being too weak to fight back at her haunted past.

Regardless, she doesn’t attempt to resist what’s coming for her. What he wants to take from her, what he has to give. She simply follows the blade as it descends in slow motion, watches as it sinks between her ribs with nauseating ease. It pierces her most precious organ at the exact moment that he brings her to her final soul-rending orgasm on this mortal plane. The pain is blinding, and the pleasure even more so, but only for an instant. 

Afterwards, he keeps moving on top of her because he wants to. He can. There _is_ no release for the dead.

She chokes on her own blood as well as her last shuddering breath, and he twists the knife to seal the deal, leaning close enough to swirl his tongue around the stab wound. He grins down at her with his mouth full of red, savoring that sweet taste he has been craving for so long. Though he knows that now he will be able to have as much of it as he wants from now on. As much of _her_...as he pleases.

Finally, he slows down to a crawl and three small words drift against her cooling lips in a deep purr of contentment. Her glazed-over eyes stare unblinkingly back up at him and he kisses the blood leaking from one side of her mouth, only to smear more of it across her face with his own. Smiling wistfully, he thinks that she has never looked more beautiful.

_"…Ich liebe dich…”_

Strade finally confesses to Y/N’s stiffening corpse as he cradles her doll-like, dead weight in his arms. The hilt of his knife still protrudes from her motionless chest.

**“...** **_für immer…”_ **

_< 3_

After all was said and done, Y/N’s sudden death was ultimately ruled as a suicide. Given her troubled history and severe case of PTSD, there was just no other plausible explanation, but there was only one small problem with that…

They never found her fingerprints, or _any_ for that matter, on the weapon. 

Her distraught husband discovered Y/N lying on her back, spread-eagle on the basement floor of that creepy abandoned house, covered in blood and her clothes in tatters. His mouth fell open in a silent scream of horror when he saw the gaping wound like a blossoming red rose around the large hunting knife buried in the center of her chest, as well as the deep, clotted lines slashed into her thighs. She looked like she had been mauled by some kind of animal. A rabid dog, maybe.

The thing that disturbed him the most, (besides the fact that she was dead) was the look on her face. Her glassy eyes were wide open and staring blankly up at the ceiling, but her bluish lips were slightly parted and curved up in a blissful smile. When he had knelt down beside her to touch her cheek and lower her eyelids, he couldn’t help but notice how very cold her skin was. It had only been a little more than an hour or so since she had gone inside, so her body temperature should not have dropped so rapidly in that short amount of time… _right?_

He chalked it up to the simple fact that it was the dead of winter and the house obviously had no heating system running.

Much later on, while he was conducting some research to try and shed some light on the reason for his wife’s tragic death, he came across an old, local newspaper article featuring the house in question. He quickly became engrossed the more he read, but he had to stop several times to take a healthy swig from the half-empty wine bottle on the desk by his mousepad. It was the same bottle gifted to himself and Y/N on their wedding day. They were supposed to allow it to age ten years and then uncork it on their anniversary, to toast their long and happy union.

So much for that.

The gist of the article was that quite a few people in the area had been reported missing over the years, but no bodies were ever discovered…until then. A young man in his mid-twenties had shown up at the emergency room one night with cuts all over his arms and legs and several industrial-sized nails driven into his shoulder. There was also a crudely rendered heart-shaped wound carved into his chest. Once he was calmed down enough to speak coherently, he directed the authorities to this very house and what they found inside….was the stuff of nightmares.

Y/N’s husband was beginning to dissociate at this point, not really wanting to continue reading this gruesome story, but he managed to glean some important details as he skimmed over the rest. Besides the basement, which smelled overwhelmingly of chemicals and was riddled with faded brown stains that could only be blood, the police also discovered a series of videos on unlabeled discs. All of them contained dimly-lit, grainy footage of an imposing man in a skull-face mask doing unspeakable things to various victims, usually culminating in their brutal rape and eventual murder. 

A number of them also featured a second individual; an unidentified, seemingly mute woman who acted as this man’s accomplice in these heinous crimes. Like most of his captives, she too had vanished without a trace.

The audio on those recordings put several of the detectives on the case who watched them in extensive therapy, but each one would say it was his _laughter_ underneath everything else that would haunt them for the rest of their lives…low, deep, and cruel.

The masked man’s corpse, who was only known by one name he didn’t quite catch, (started with an “S”, maybe?) was discovered stuffed into a large freezer in the same basement those videos were filmed in, well-preserved by the ice and meat surrounding his frozen body. As he scrolled past an image of a anxious-looking youth with orange hair and glasses, he came across a somewhat blurry candid photograph of a cheerful man with scruffy brown hair and a wide, toothy grin sitting at a bar and holding up a beer stein. He wasn’t looking at whoever was taking the shot, but instead appeared to be talking animatedly to someone off camera. There was something about his _eyes_ though, that he couldn’t put his finger on. 

They weren’t quite…right.

It was here that his breath caught in his throat, his blood running as cold as his wife’s hand had been when he hopelessly felt her wrist for a pulse. This seemingly friendly, unassuming man had been found with his chest torn wide open as if by claws, exposing his ribcage…and his heart was missing. 

The remaining paragraphs were about some kid they had also found in the house, but he was beyond caring by this point. He closed the browser window and shut down his computer.

Y/N’s husband shakily stood up from his desk and stumbled off to the bathroom where he promptly vomited the half-digested remains of his supper into the toilet. As he sat on the floor, resting his head on the cool porcelain and trying to make sense of it all, he came to a horrifying realization.

His late wife had always been extremely self-conscious about her scars, to the point that she often insisted on the lights being switched off whenever they made love. However, there was a set of particularly strange marks situated low on her stomach in a crooked row, just over her womb. Even though they were faded with time and the strain of two pregnancies, it was clear that they still spelled out something. 

Y/N refused to acknowledge them in any way, never mind discuss their origins, but he managed to get a good look at least once while she was fast asleep, mainly out of nagging curiosity. It wasn’t just a word, he knew now.

It was a _name,_ a signature permanently branded into her flesh.

The same one that belonged to that monster of a human being in the article. The one who killed all those people and got away with it until after he was found dead in his own private torture chamber beneath his immaculate suburban home. The one who was responsible for the murder of his wife…He was absolutely sure of this, though no sane individual would ever believe him as long as he lived.

_“Strade…”_

He uttered the name with contempt so thick and poisonous it felt like acid on his tongue and he had to spit into the sink to prevent himself from gagging. After polishing off the last of the wine that he would never share with Y/N, he shuffled down the hallway to their children’s bedroom. Perhaps watching _them_ sleep would at least bring him some temporary peace of mind.

If he tried to go to bed now, he was terrified that he would see that twisted smile and amber gaze in the darkness behind his eyelids as soon as he allowed them to drift closed for the night, taunting him. After all, he didn’t want to wake the kids…

**…because he would never be able to stop screaming.**

-Das Ende-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! That's all she wrote, my friends! For now, anyway. ;) Happy holidays to each and every one of you!
> 
> A bit of backstory: Shortly after the pandemic hit, I started writing again for the first time in probably at least a decade since I was no longer able to work full-time and felt kind of lost and useless. I had never written smut, or anything even vaguely gory or horror-related, but my pathetic school-girl crush on a certain filthy murder man forced me into it, I suppose. I don't consider myself good enough at what I do to ever make a career out of it, but I DO see it as a real passion project, nonetheless. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll be releasing a couple of one-shots before I start another long-form story but I'll most likely take a little break over the holidays to collect my thoughts. I want to thank all of you for reading my work, leaving kudos, and showering me with such lovely comments! Just knowing that even ONE person enjoyed what I wrote really makes me want to keep going and I am so grateful and humbled by everyone's kind words and support. It means the world to me.
> 
> So please don't be shy! Let me know your thoughts about the grand finale, I'd love to hear from you all <3
> 
> Fun fact: The concept for the epilogue came to me suddenly late at night while I was still in the middle of writing part 2 or 3. I didn't originally want to kill Strade off but I became so attached to the idea of him as a malevolent spirit haunting his own derelict house that I was determined to stick to my guns on that ending.
> 
> It was a love story all along. ❤
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> Du wirst zu mir zurückkehren, meine liebe. - You will come back to me, my dear (or my love)
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite (you know the drill, by now lol)
> 
> und feucht - and wet 😏
> 
> süßes Kätzchen - sweet kitten
> 
> mein haustier - my pet
> 
> Dein Herz gehört mir und niemand sonst. - Your heart is mine and no one else's.
> 
> Ich werde ihn dich nicht mehr haben lassen. - I won't let him have you anymore.
> 
> Ich liebe dich - I love you (AHHH OMG THERE IT IS YOU GUYS HE SAID IT FUCKING FINALLY)
> 
> für immer - always


End file.
